Epiphany
by fFfF826
Summary: Girl meets boy. Girl hates boy. Boy hates girl. Stuff happens. Hilarity ensues.
1. Beginnings

_A/N: This is a story about Rose and Scorpius, partly based on the storyline of Pride and Prejudice. And no, I do not own either Harry Potter or Pride and Prejudice._

Today my mascara didn't smudge on the first go and my eyeliner was applied like it was for someone going to work in an office, not someone going to work as a drag queen.

Each curly tendril of my distinctive Weasley red hair was tamed back by a Holding charm, and tamed into a fashionable cut. And even the red lipstick didn't clash too heavily with my hair.

I was wearing a newly ironed ivory blouse, and with feminine ruffles down the middle. My skirt was down to a respectable knee-length, and the floaty sea foam fabric managed to subtly highlight my form and hide the imperfections gathered through years of inactivity while pigging out on Honeydukes chocolate. And for once, I managed to winch my thick brown leather belt over my waist and still be capable of human respiration.

Life was good, in short.

I had already walked half a mile in those killer black high heels that Lily somehow convinced me to buy with half of last fortnight's salary. I could have been diagnosed clinically insane for buying such a ludicrous pair of shoes, but the fact of the matter was that I had not yet fallen over. Lily's raptures about it being made by some Muggle brand 'Gucci' or something didn't really help justify the purchase.

In fact those shoes weren't bought by last fornight's paycheck, but the previous month and a half's paycheck, as I had had a (paid) month off work.

I suspected the month off work had something to do with a Ministry reshuffle, and I sincerely hoped that I would not be put with that freak staring at me from three cubicles across. Or any other freak like that.

My destination was approaching, and nonchalantly I looked around for any prying Muggles and entered an inconspicuous red telephone box, disordered and glass panes missing. I took my black satin robes out, wrestled myself into it, and shrunk my bag to fit into the pocket in my set of robes.

Dad often wondered why I didn't apparate to the main entrance but instead use the Visitor entrance. Obviously, he didn't take into consideration that my flat was in the Muggle area of London and Apparation wouldn't exactly be easy. And nor did he really understand that my exercise comprised of my daily walk to the telephone booth. And even then I didn't exercise anywhere near the requisite half hour.

I dialled in six-two-four-four-two.

The box boomed with sound.

'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.'

I was already accustomed to this daily announcement and I replied in a bored tone of voice.

'Rose Weasley, Improper Use of Magic.'

The telephone box sunk underground just like the Muggle elevator Mum dragged me in when we went to a Muggle mall.

'The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day.'

Usually, I would feel the need to curse the woman and her stupid and aggravatingly pleasant tone of voice, but today, I didn't feel the usual surge of hate rise up inside me.

For once, I thought I might actually have a pleasant day inside the Ministry. I breezed easily through security and into the grand foyer.

My shoes clacked noisily against the hard floor.

And then the pointy heel of my shiny new shoes jabbed straight into the flesh of a poor foot.

Since I was earlier than usual, there were not many people to witness the commotion and I was glad for it.

I heard a yelp from the owner of the said foot and I looked up to meet teary eyes.

It must have hurt quite a bit.

Aside from the tears forming in her eyes, they were quite pretty and a shiny azure blue. Her blonde ringlets hung around her shoulder and her posture betrayed anxiety. Her robes looked quite pressed, not dishevelled like mine. And to cap it all off, I noticed a silver badge pinned neatly to her robes, clearly stating that it was her (Jana Bettison) first day in the International Magical Cooperation. She was quite an _ingénue_.

Poor her. First day here and she'd already got her foot squashed. And she was working for the International Magical Cooperation Department. Possibly _the most_ boring department. Ever. It didn't really help that _Uncle Percy_ worked there and he was quite possibly the biggest bore ever, to put it kindly.

I quickly rounded up all the papers she had dropped. And then I realised my apologies were long overdue.

'I'm so sorry!' I said, so enthusiastically I might have sounded insincere, which I definitely wasn't.

'I'm okay," Jana said while desperately rubbing her foot.

'I can tell you're not. Your foot's turning purple. Here –

I pointed my wand at her foot, careful to aim it properly, and did a quick healing spell.

'Thankyou.'

'It's nothing. I'm the one who stepped on your foot, and on your first day no less.'

She looked quite shocked at my knowing it was her first day here.

'Ah Jana, it says it on your badge. I got one on my first day here as well.'

It was interesting to gauge the reaction on her face. At first it was shock at hearing her name and then it morphed into realisation. Even her cheeks had a small schoolgirl blush in them.

'I guess I forgot about that.'

'Hey, you could meet me outside my office. For drinks you know, cause I've got nothing better to do than rent out a soppy Muggle DVD and I have a feeling I'm going to like you. It's the least I can do for making you hobble for a fair few days.'

She laughed and I helped haul her up onto her feet again. She looked at me hesitantly and decided to go ahead with her question.

'I was just wondering, um, where your office is?'

'Oh, Improper Use of Magic on level two. First glass cubicle one on the right and it has my name _Rose Weasley_ printed on a shiny silver plaque. You won't miss it.'

Awe was written all over her face.

'You're a Weasley! Unbelievable! And Harry Potter must be your uncle!'

I was used to people commenting like that since I was three and Mum and Dad took me to Diagon Alley. And in the nineteen years since I've just gotten used to it.

'Well, yeah. I like to think that I know my surname.'

'Cool!'

We both walked (albeit Jana was awkwardly) towards the lift and I had already taken quite a liking to her kind heart and obvious innocence.

It was just the two of us in the elevator and we made pleasant small talk.

_Level Five, Department of International Magical Co-operation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats._

'Well, I think this is your level now! Nice meeting you.' I said this cheerily and extended my hand out for a formal handshake.

'Nice meeting you too," she said shaking my hand, and she walked out of the lift and gave me a shy wave and a brilliant smile.

A few memos flew in as she left the lift.

_Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services. _

I hummed happily as I strode out of the lift. I opened the mahogany doors and walked straight through into my accustomed office.

I missed the plaque outside my office. It no longer said just _Rose Weasley_, but _Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy._

I walked in, engorged my bag and sat down in my favoured chair before I noticed the second desk and the second armchair and the platinum blonde head poking out from the Magical typewriter.

'Da –

I composed myself at the sight of another person in _my _precious office space.

I had no trouble recognising the hair or the greyish-cobalt eyes, but the unmistakable feature was the omnipresent smirk.

'What the hell are you doing here, _Scorpius_?'

I had learnt from Albus (yes, I still cannot believe that Albus befriended) that a sure way to annoy Malfoy was to call him by his given name.

But I guess he deserved what he got for being born into the Malfoy clan. After all his father was named after a tyrannical Athenian leader. His surname does mean 'bad faith' in French as well.

'I might ask you why you didn't notice the sign outside the door? Or the newly enlarged cubicle? I didn't know you were _that _unperceptive Weasley.'

It was clear that he intended it as a joke, but I interpreted it as a personal insult. After all, in our Hogwarts days he was quite unsociable and only talked as much as convention required. He had manners enough, sure, but seemed distant to the point of rude.

'Oh, are we back to last name terms _Malfoy_?'

'We were never on first name terms _Weasley_.' He replied.

'Have it your way Malfoy.'

I shrugged off my cloak and set off to work on my list of files to be stored. I unlocked my drawer, retrieved the Magical typewriter and started typing away.

_John Perks. One violation of the International Statute of Secrecy (minor: non-damaging curse in Muggle area of London). _

_Christina Phillips. Two violations _of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery (minor: colour-changing charm on inkbottle and levitation charm on said inkbottle).

By noon I had dug through an admirable quarter of my assigned paperwork. The four hours since I had entered the room transpired in a tense silence. He only looked up at me with a critical eye, staring me up and down. It was more than slightly unnerving.

'Malfoy. Quit the staring. It's slightly scary.'

He hunkered down to start typing and replied.

'I am not.'

'You do know all our past four hours of conversation have consisted wholly of argument?'

'You do seem to have a fondness for talking and perpetuating useless conversation. After all, we are complaining about nothing.'

'Really? Then I will retaliate and say that I am merely trying to be cordial by encouraging some talking. I guess my company is not appreciated.'

I put on my cloak and sashayed right out of the room for a quick bite. A cheese, lettuce and mayonnaise sandwich later, I returned to the office, to begin work yet again.

'That took you a while, Weasley.'

'Oh. I thought I was entitled to at least half an hour to eat my sandwich and catch-up with assorted friends.'

He stared blankly at me as though the concept of _talking_ to one's friends during a period of precious spare time was completely alien.

'Some of us do _socialize_ you know.'

I could tell by then that he simply didn't want to take the trouble of formulating a reply when I was simply going to rebuff him with yet _another_ of my witty responses.

The sun went down gradually through the artificial windows ingeniously charmed by Magical Maintenance.

The miniature grandfather clock in the corner struck five and I knew I was free to leave. But I was compelled to stay behind because if I left poor Jana would probably go around the whole Ministry building looking for me. I was sure she would, even though I had known her less than a quarter of an hour.

'Malfoy. I thought you would take the first opportunity to leave and return to a place of complete silence and solitude.'

'You're wrong. I'm waiting for Al so we can eat out somewhere.'

'That is coincidental! I'm going out somewhere tonight as well.'

I thought he would take the hint and suggest a combined dinner, but apparently he was completely ignorant or being deliberately unsocial.

I ordered all the papers lying on my desk and proceeded to the door. I wasn't even halfway through when a black-haired figure bowled me over and straight into a hug.

'Al!'

I was pleased to see him.

'Scorp! I didn't know you two shared an office!' Albus said.

'You weren't the only one to miss the sign outside the door' I replied.

'I'm surprised that Scorp came to the office later than you. After all, you would have had to come earlier than him to see the shocked look on his face when he saw an extra figure in a supposedly empty office.' Albus questioned.

Scorpius had finished his work and packed everything away.

'You're misunderstanding her. The person who missed the sign was Wea – Rose.'

Al patted me affectionately on the back.

'Ah, Rose, you'll spin everything to your advantage!'

Al decided pretty soon after that that he would prefer to talk to Malfoy instead of me. I spied a nervous rushing figure coming towards me through the frosted glass.

I stood up, basically knowing it was to be Jana. I opened the door and pulled her into a tight hug.

She cautiously put her arms around me, obviously not used to so much exuberance.

Al and Malfoy obviously noticed the commotion we were creating. Al looked up at Jana and I could tell he was quite a fan of Jana's classic good looks, blonde curls and clear and innocent blue eyes.

Malfoy spotted Albus' admiration for Jana as well. I swear I detected an eye roll from him. He was no stranger to Albus' many infatuations and his subsequent proclamations of unfounded love.

Jana and Albus' conversation continued well, with many blushes on her side and awkward pauses on his side. I decided it would be good for Albus to keep talking with Jana. He did seem happy beyond usual.

I took action and interjected.

'Al. I know that you and Malfoy were planning to go out for dinner and Jana and I were going to go out for dinner too! You should come with us.'

Albus was looking at Jana while he replied.

'Sure! I'll definitely have good company,' Albus replied.

Albus gallantly offered his arm to Jane, and after much blushing they walked into the lift, talking animatedly. Malfoy and I were left to trail behind on what I suspected would be a date.

'Well Malfoy, I'm real sure that we're going to have _heaps of fun_ when Jana and Albus talk during dinner. After all, we couldn't get enough of each other's company in the office.'

I was fairly certain he noticed the sarcasm in my voice.

'I have a family friend whose coming along for dinner. Cassiopeia Burke.' He replied.

'Well, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her yet.'

I wasn't sure that it would be _a_ _pleasure_ to meet Cassiopeia Burke. She was just out of Hogwarts and I had heard some of my younger cousins refer to her as an 'ice queen'. I had sort of assumed that she was pureblood already; after all the name Cassiopeia had a rather distinctive snobbish sound to it.

After this little snippet of conversation, we had already arrived at the entrance. And yet I still didn't know where we were to have dinner.

'Al!'

He was still busy talking happily to Jana about Grandma Molly's great cooking. He was rather more open to Jana than any other girl he had met: he wasn't really the type to overflow with emotion.

I raised my voice higher.

'Al!'

He finished his sentence and rather irritably turned around to me.

'What was your question Rosie?'

I flinched a little as I heard Al refer to me by the nickname I had adopted when I was ten but had dropped soon after.

'Well it's glad to know your back on Earth. But anyway, where are we going for dinner?'

'We're going to the Leaky Cauldron.'

Al gave Malfoy a stare as though Malfoy could have told me where we were having dinner without interrupting his precious time with Jana.

I smiled. Jana and Al would be perfect together and they would probably have sweet, perfect, docile yet intelligent green-eyed (from Uncle Harry's side) blonde haired children.

'What are you smiling at Weasley?' he said.

'What, is smiling a crime now? I'm happy, which seems to be a foreign concept to you.'

He had probably suspected that I was supportive about Jana and Al together and I gathered that he considered Al with all his fame, connections and money would be _associating_ beneath him.

Jana, who professed that she wasn't quite confident when apparating after splinching herself a month ago, side-along apparated with Albus, who seemed glad to help her. Scorpius and I however just apparated by ourselves.

We walked inside and the ever-amiable Hannah greeted us. Albus confessed that he needed to go the bathroom, and managed to drag Scorpius along with him. I also needed to go and freshen myself up, and Jana, reluctant to stay by herself came along with me.

We walked to the respective bathrooms, side by side. I took my lipstick out from my bag and touched up everything.

'So Scorp, what do you think of Rosie then?' Al said.

Jana was still inside her cubicle so I took the liberty of pressing my ear against the wall to hear what my cousin and new colleague were saying about me.

Al was greeted by silence.

'Do you want to take her out to the Potter Yuletide Ball that I'm sure your father will wangle you tickets to? After all, Rose will probably be able to go and so will I, with the help of a Mr. Harry Potter.'

More silence followed.

'Come on Scorp! Rosie is pretty enough!'

'Jana happens to be the one blessed with all the beauty.'

'I'll agree there, my Jana is wonderful but Rosie isn't bad either. It's better than taking that Burke girl to the Ball. She'll just fawn over you all night and you won't have a place to be sick at the Ball.'

'She's barely pretty, with that wild red hair flying about in her face.'

'You'll see Scorp the difference between Rosie and Burke tonight and then you'll know who you prefer.'

I heard the door slam shut.

A light bulb had connected in my head and I realized that Burke girl was Al's ex. That was sure to be awkward, but I was rather eager to meet her face to face.

I went back to my drama queen mode and was making up all manner of comebacks against Malfoy.

Jana came out of the bathroom and I related to her everything.

'Ah, but Rose, maybe Malfoy said what he said about you by accident.'

I snorted. Leave it to Jana to believe the best in everybody.

'Well,' I replied, 'I won't be hurt by it. I'll just ignore and humiliate him the best I can.'

We resumed our seats and I happily took a seat next to Al, who was also next to Jana. Malfoy and Burke took the bench opposite us, and I could tell she was sitting _way_ too close to Malfoy for him to be comfortable.

Burke thoroughly ignored Al and he was much too involved with Jana to notice. I was left as an almost-silent observer.

Along with her reputation for being the supreme Ice Queen, I had also heard those wishing for a union between Malfoy and her (this rumour I suspected had been planted by her). It seemed that she was rather desperate for him to notice her, and yet she was failing spectacularly to capture her interest.

'Rose. I don't feel so well. I might go to the bathroom for a bit. Make my excuses to Al okay? He won't notice me being gone for a while when he's talking to Scorpius.'

'Alright Jana. You'll be fine.'

I turned back to the conversation and apparently had not missed much.

The Ice Queen addressed me.

'So Rose, I hear from Scorpius here that your uncle is known other than the famous Harry Potter.'

The way she emphasized the name _Harry Potter_ with disdain didn't exactly give me a favourable opinion of her.

'Yes, but unlike _some people_ I chose not to live upon my connections.'

She pursed her lips tightly and returned to her eyelash-battering with Malfoy.

I sat squashed near the window, occasionally interjecting an unnoticeable sarcastic comment or two.

The Ice Queen addressed me _again_.

'I presume you will be going to the Potter Yuletide Ball? After all Mr. Potter is most influential and –

'Yes I will be attending, thank you very much.'

'Oh. I just thought that given the prolific nature of the Weasley-Potter clan, some may miss out.'

I bit my cheek hard to prevent myself from responding with the first insult that popped into my head.

'Oh _Cassiopeia_, I assure you I will be attending. After all, I love a good ball and a chance to meet new people.'

Malfoy stopped staring out of the window and decided to interject into what appeared would be a cat-fight between Burke and I.

'I don't like dancing.' He said without room for contradiction.

Such an abrupt and opposing statement to mine had bruised me, both ego and intellect.

'Well, I do recommend it _sir_ for it is a great opportunity to get to know your partner better. Even if they are only _barely pretty_.' I replied.

He coloured slightly and resumed his staring competition with an intensely interesting rose bed just outside the window.

Jana returned back and consulting my watch, looked very green and rather worse for wear in the thirty minutes she had been gone.

I walked straight out and sought an explanation.

'Jana. What's wrong?'

'Rosie.'

She coughed and I noticed she looked slightly green.

'Do you mind if I stay at your apartment tonight? Sorry if I'm intruding on your privacy, but I'm quite far from home so it would be easier to bunk at your home.'

I almost wanted to tell her that she could stay over, but on a lumpy and barely comfortable sofa with a threadbare sheet in autumn.

'Sorry Jana. I'm a bit scarce on space but I would recommend you ask Al whether you can sleep with him.'

She blushed deeply and sought to explain herself. I managed to cut her off and spare her the embarrassment.

'Sorry! I was meant to phrase that you should ask Al to sleep in his spare room. He has plenty in his penthouse apartment and its barely a few minutes away from here. Come Jana. Take my shoulder and we'll hobble back together. And don't worry, I'll ask Al whether you can stay over. You look done for, honestly.'

Arm in arm, we walked back.

Al enthusiastically agreed and eagerly helped Jane walk back to his apartment. I was sandwiched in the middle, with Malfoy and Burke bringing up the rear. I felt like the awkward third wheel on a date.

Or technically the fifth wheel on a double date.

I sighed, trundling to Al's apartment and very willing to collapse into one of Al's sofas fully clothed.

_A/N: Comments? Suggestions? Reviews?_


	2. Dissent

_A/N: Chapter 2 covers the action at Netherfield. I do not own anything you recognise. _

The sun peeped out through the windows of the spacious living room.

'Rise and shine!'

I internally moaned. Leave it to Al to wake somebody up when the sun was still barely out. I think Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny raised all the children to wake up at the crack of dawn and play Quidditch or something.

'Wake up!'

He shook me and I groaned out loud this time. I took a minute (or several) of mushing about in the warmth of the doona, and slowly dragged myself from a lying position to a sitting one. I noticed I was still wearing what I was wearing the previous day. A Friday. That made today Saturday. I was about to go back to sleep again as I realised it was Saturday and the clock said it was only _7:30am_.

'Rosie,' Al said, 'I slept at two o'clock trying to help poor Jana from vomiting over my furniture and I woke up at six to find her still sick. Spare some compassion for me.'

I remembered the last time I had came to Al's apartment. That was his 21st birthday 'gathering' and when _I _was sick all over his furniture he just gave me a potion and offered me the sofa.

It was clear that he liked her.

Al took a seat next to me on the rumpled, makeshift bed. He started talking again.

'I know you hate waking up early, but I wanted you to get some overnight stuff for Jana and yourself,' he said.

'Fine,' I said. 'I don't fancy nursing an invalid all weekend. I'll apparate to my apartment, than Jana's as long as you can find out her address.'

It turned out Al was a step ahead. 'I know her address but there is one problem. She lives in an Apparation-Exclusion Zone. It's a 2-mile radius where no apparating is allowed in or out.'

I probably looked confused, and I was. I had trouble navigating with maps and walking straight into a Muggle area knowing only an address would probably lead to trouble.

Al took a piece of paper from his back pocket.

'Here -

I took the map from his had and observed it. It was obviously written by Jana, due to my knowledge of Al's sub-standard handwriting. The lettering was neatly formed and a slanted cursive. They say that handwriting indicates your personality, and apparently Jana was not an exception.

Thankfully, the map was very detailed and legible, with just about every street near her home labelled.

Al had wandered off to a closet and from it had taken out a pair of track-pants, a t-shirt, sweater and a ratty pair of sneakers. I recognised them as my own. He threw the items to me and I got changed in the privacy of the bathroom.

By the time it was _7:52am_ on my watch I was out the door of Al's apartment and then at the door of my block. I rushed in, chucked my own things (among them were several books adding unnecessary weight) into an overnight bag and rushed back out of the door, not even bothering to change out of the mismatched outfit.

By consulting the map, I apparated to an alleyway nearest possible to Jana's home. It was evidently a Muggle area I had never encountered. I looked like a lost tourist, always staring at the map and muttering to myself.

I was very glad that I wasn't wearing heels, because after one and a half miles my feet were sore and my breathing strained. I needed to improve my cardiovascular capacity. I soldiered on, opening the door with a key that Al had kindly decided to include so I wouldn't have to resort to magic to break down the door.

It was weird. Not her apartment, which was decorated fashionably and rather uncluttered and minimalist, but what was weird was entering someone's own haven after just one day's acquaintance.

I easily located all her stuff and by half an hour, after a rigorous jog I had made it back to Al's living room. I noticed that someone had cleared away my temporary sleeping arrangements. And I also noticed Malfoy and Burke sitting at the nearby table with mugs of coffee.

Damn. Malfoy lived with Al in London. And Burke was their guest.

Burke looked pretty well put together, but it was Malfoy that was really annoying me. It wasn't even _nine in the morning_ and he looked put-together crisply enough to have an audience with the Minister for Magic. Even the suit looked freshly pressed and with matching cufflinks. In front of those two, I felt oddly underdressed.

Burke looked me up and down in disgust.

'My God, did you _walk_ to get dear Jana's stuff? In all the mud and _Muggle_ filth I hear her apartment is near to?' Burke said.

'Yes I did. Do you have any problem with it?'

Burke pursed her lips and then she leaned over Malfoy's shoulder, who was currently pursuing the Morning Edition of the Daily Prophet.

'Scorpius,' she asked, 'would you like to tell Rose here where Jana is so she can give to Jana her possessions?'

He looked distinctly irritated; whether at Burke or me I couldn't really tell.

'Don't worry,' he said, and then he got out from his chair. He formally offered his arm to me and I took it. I felt a little tingly when he hooked his arm in mine, but it subsided to nothing but a small edginess at the pit of my stomach.

Burke was jealously looking on.

It was barely half a minute and when I thanked him for showing me to Jana's room, he stiffly nodded and walked back up the corridor. Maybe he wasn't just extending a courtesy to me; he might have just been doing his daily power walk?

He left behind a faint smell of cologne. It really did seem like he was a weird form of extra-terrestrial to be so utterly prepared and presentable so early in the morning.

Holding both overnight bags, I entered Jana's room. She was sleeping now, a little weak but not vomiting anymore. That was definitely a relief.

'Jana. I've got your stuff. Is Al taking care of you well?' I asked.

'Just leave the bag there. Al is taking care of me really well.'

'I actually think that Al enjoys you being here sick.'

'How could you say that?'

'I'm pretty sure it's true though!'

And speaking of the devil, Al let himself in.

'How are you going Jana?' he asked. 'Can I get anything for you?'

She smiled sweetly back.

'No, I'm perfectly fine here. Thankyou for all your kindness.'

He smiled sweetly back at her.

'It's my pleasure to have you here.'

'Guys?' I said. 'It seems that Jana's going to be fine here as long as Al takes care of her. I'll be going back to my room now.'

To be bluntly honest, I had left the room just so Al and Jana would have a much longer opportunity to talk.

But a few hours later, several stacks of paperwork, and two cups of tea later I was wishing I had stayed with Jana. It was only 4pm and I had already run out of productive things to do. I trawled through the bag I had packed and picked up a copy of _Persuasion_.

It was a beautiful copy of the book. It was a red hard-back and painstakingly protected by my mum. It was a surprise I had managed to keep it that way, considering the state of my other books.

I walked out of the room; book in hand, to stretch my legs a little.

I just read.

For me, it was sheer pleasure to see a woman, past all hope of ever seeing a lost love again, to be reunited with him. I would give _so much_ to live in an Austen romance.

At this point, I actually sighed out loud. I had to clear my head of any preposterous musings that it would be possible to go back to the 19th century via a time turner.

My mum had passed down an obsessive liking of Muggle books, particularly those from a bygone era.

After immersing myself into a fictional world for a few further minutes I decided I needed to snap back into reality.

I put the book _very far _away from the kitchen. If Al was going to try and cook, I didn't really want to be anywhere near. The last time he tried to cook I was hanging around him. Half an hour later I wasn't near him and was instead in his bathroom _still_ trying to get half-cooked dough out of my hair.

I meandered around for a little, had a shower, and arrived back to see four white cardboard takeout boxes on the table. We were having Thai tonight.

I presumed Al had learnt his lesson: cooking wasn't his thing.

I sat there stupidly for a while before Al showed up.

'Hi Al! How's Jana?' I asked.

Al smiled and looked proud as punch as he gave a blow-by-blow analysis of all the nursing techniques he had used to make her better,

' - And then I gave her some soup I went out to buy and she instantly _looked_ so warm! And -

I interrupted him. He could defer his raptures until later. Or preferably forever.

'Al, did you get any food for Jana? I notice you only have four boxes of food.'

He looked at me confusedly at first but then smiled _again_.

'I got her some plain noodles and another bowl of soup. She told me her appetite wasn't that great.' He said.

'And I don't suppose you would know what was wrong with her?'

'She probably had some rancid meat within the past week or so.'

'Are you sure it wasn't the food she had last night?'

'Rose, don't be silly. Hannah and Neville wouldn't use contaminated food.'

Malfoy had come in with Burke staying close to him. Judging by the annoyed expression, Burke had been annoying Malfoy during the hours since morning. I couldn't help but feel sympathy for him for being stuck with Burke.

I _definitely_ didn't feel sympathetic towards him for any other reason. He deserved just about anything for being such a _pompous, cold, _and _arrogant_ being.

On the table I seated myself next to Al. Frustratingly Malfoy took the seat opposite. Burke took the seat diagonal to me. Which was lucky. She could be Al and Malfoy's problem for tonight.

We ate in relative silence. I clumsily handled the chopsticks that had come with the food and had satisfied my hunger properly within five minutes. Both Burke and Malfoy stared at me distastefully.

They were both awkwardly twisting the pad thai around a fork, as though they were eating spaghetti.

I snorted and Burke ignored me. Malfoy however stared at me again. He then ignored me and continued eating.

Al had finished his food in a reasonable time. Malfoy took a _long_ time. Burke did too, but when I observed closely I noticed she was sneaking glances at Malfoy all the time. I suspected that she timed her eating so she would finish eating the same time Malfoy did.

If imitation was the highest form of flattery, I'm sure Malfoy would have been pleased. But even for him, I didn't think he appreciated the flattery coming from Burke.

We displaced onto the sofa that I had slept on last night. Al and I took a seat together, and Malfoy and Burke onto another.

Malfoy had taken out a letter and was leaning forward onto the table to write it.

'You write so fast and neat,' Burke purred with syrup dripping in her voice.

I could have been sick.

Burke received no reply however so she quietly sulked for a few moments before launching yet another assault on Malfoy.

'Are you writing to _dear_ Lola?' she asked.

I don't think she would have been capable of calling anyone 'dear' if she were a competitor for Malfoy's attentions.

'Is Lola your sister Malfoy?' I blurted out.

'Yes.' He replied without even pausing from his writing.

'Tell Lola how much I want to see her.' Burke swooned.

It seemed that Malfoy had a good sense of hindsight. He replied he had already put Burke's request for Lola's company into his letter, and that he had done so in every previous letter without receiving a sufficient answer.

Even though I didn't know Lola, I empathised. Poor Lola. To be fawned over by such a _sick and sycophantic creature_ would drive me crazy.

Burke pouted.

'Lola is such a young and accomplished woman. And she must have bloomed over the months I haven't seen her! Scorpius, tell her to come to London!' Burke said obstinately.

'Geez, every woman I happen to meet is described as intelligent and accomplished. Soon everyone I meet will be introduced as the new Albus!' Al said after a lot of silence.

I laughed, and I even saw a hint of a smile curving on Malfoy's lips.

It was one of Al's inside jokes. He always compared himself in jest to his namesake, Albus Dumbledore. On this occasion however he was commenting on the fact that soon everyone would be introduced as having the same courage and genius that Albus Dumbledore had.

I was pretty sure Burke found the situation not amusing at all. To retain her image of supposed knowledge however she laughed both falsely and shrilly and her smile was as artificial as I had ever seen.

'Well,' she said while she stood up and paced about the sofas, 'I do consider a sound understanding of Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Astronomy and Arithmancy necessary -

She seemed to leave out some essential subjects. For example, wasn't Herbology important? Wasn't learning how to defend yourself from the Dark Arts vital? Wasn't learning and appreciating the ingenuity of Muggles something that was a desirable trait? Apparently not, at least according to Burke.

' - along with a fondness for _refined_ forms of music and dance. Knowledge of the modern languages _must _be had, and it must be a fashionable language like French and not something _horrible _and _scholarly_ like Latin.'

What right did Burke have to say about what languages I should learn? My mum had taught me some basic Latin and bred in a deeper appreciation of the structure of the language. Also, something about the way that Burke had said the words _horrible _and _scholarly_ suggested to me that she thought the concepts synonymous. Despicable.

She paused for a little; evidently preparing another jaundiced and completely stereotyped rant.

'She must have a _stunning _sense of fashion and must be good around the kitchen. But most of all, she must have an aura of _delicacy _and _femineity_ surrounding her.'

Burke was a bigoted sexist. But I have to say I was shocked that her vocabulary extended so far as to include the words _aura _and _femineity_.

Malfoy had now sealed his letter and was paying full attention to the conversation.

'And of course she must be capable of independence, and not be clingy, desperate or a manipulator,' he added in.

I had a feeling this opinion was directed to Burke, but the subtle hint flew right past her _tiny_, _wimpy_ and _delicate_ head.

I analysed all of what Burke had described as the traits of an accomplished woman, and I had to say they were pretty formidable. If one did exist, they would have to be a magical mutant created by the Department of Mysteries.

'Malfoy, Miss Burke, I am rather surprised you know _any_ accomplished women. Who could boast both a flawless _curriculum vitae _and an extensive knowledge of culinary cooking? I certainly fail on both counts, and I'm sure most women wouldn't be able to boast natural talent in all areas of life.' I said rather smugly, imitating Burke's high and mighty airs and faked voice.

The discussion was at an end. We simply sat (well Burke was still pacing) there, waiting for someone to bring up a topic.

Burke turned towards me and extended her hand out. It was the second time today that someone had formally offered me their arm. Linking arms, I followed her, stupidly pacing about, wondering why I was walking for no obvious reason.

We circled the sofas for what felt like the tenth time when she stopped in front of Malfoy.

'Would you like to join us?' she asked.

I had much rather not have Scorpius join us. That would increase the unease I already felt.

'No,' he said. 'You might have private business to discuss. The other is that you're aware that your figures look much better moving than idle.'

Burke laughed that shrill and artificial laugh again. It was the answer she had expected and wanted.

She took my arm and said, 'That was such an _untruthful_ speech! Rose, you chose how we should avenge him.'

I mulled over this for a while. This was an opportunity to humiliate him and I was _most definitely_ going to take it.

'We could always laugh at him. I love a good chance to laugh.' I said.

Burke stared at me queerly and replied.

'Well, I suppose the _lower classes of people _have to entertain themselves as well.'

My opinion of Burke took an even bigger nosedive. Not that my opinion of her was very high to start with.

I walked up closer to Malfoy and stared him down.

'What are your faults Malfoy? I know you think you're all perfect and everything' I said.

He seemed to reflect on that point and gave a composed answer.

'Pride is a virtue when there is justification. Arrogance is also usually only the misinterpretation of someone's character. They might be shy.'

I stared back at him. He actually thought that his arrogance and pride was justified?

'He that is proud eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.' I recited fluently.

He looked at me with a gleam of appreciation in his eye.

'Shakespeare?'

'Yes. I didn't know you read Muggle works.' I replied.

'I've read much.' He said.

'The extensive reading doesn't seem to have improved your character Malfoy.'

I strode back to my seat, and I realized that I might have just ruined all chance of a friendly working relationship with Malfoy. But that didn't matter very much to me at least.

It was late enough already, and the company was not very stimulating. Al and I shooed away Burke and Malfoy and by 10pm I was happily lying on the sofa again, feeling reflective.

Sparring with Malfoy was definitely fun. That irritated and simultaneously curious and arrogant look on his face was priceless.

_A/N: I've tried hard to translate this scene appropriately for the story, but it seems I just can't do justice to Austen. _

_Reviews anyone?_


	3. She's one year closer to dying

_A/N: This chapter is our first introduction to Charlotte Lucas a.k.a 'Chantal Lucis'. We also get our first introduction to 'Jake Wickham' (no explanation required to who he corresponds to in P&P)._

_Needless to say I don't own HP or Jane Austen. _

I was walking carefully across the cobblestones in Diagon Alley, still feeling cold despite the weak yellow light of the winter sun shining fully upon me. I looked at my watch and decided to hurry. If I got there quickly enough I could have a _full_ hour to catch up with her.

Without falling over along the way I arrived at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. It really did escape me why the shop was named after a guy called Fortescue, so I asked my mum and dad about when I was a kid getting ice cream there.

They looked sadly at each other and told me when they were children there used to be a nice man named Fortescue who ran and owned the shop. And then they told me about how he disappeared.

That was the first time I remembered them telling me directly about Voldemort.

When I arrived just outside the shop I saw Chantal already drinking her customary _affogato_ smugly. After all, she was the one who worked in Diagon Alley and not at the Ministry.

I was holding a black bag with her birthday present inside and she was unashamedly trying to look through the impenetrable black to see what I had given her. I retaliated for her starting at the bag by placing the black bag behind me, far beyond her reach and gaze.

Disappointed she leaned back into her chair and gulped and spooned down the remaining part of her beverage.

'Chantal, you've got a bit in your hair,' I said, spotting it in her hair.

'Thanks,' she replied in return for my warning. She picked up the paper napkin and wiped it from the ends of her long straight tresses. She smoothed the top of her hair and she signalled for the waiter.

I hadn't noticed him before and I didn't know he worked there either, which was surprising considering the fact that Chantal and I did go there at least once a fortnight.

He came towards us with a charming smile and dimples, with a dirty cloth hanging by his side.

'What would you like?' he asked.

'Can we please have two caramel slices? And some candles, it's her birthday,' I replied amiably.

'No problem.'

He gave me a parting smile and walked back to prepare our order.

'He seems pretty nice, especially to you. He was very polite to me, but with you here he gave you all the attention.' She said.

'Well, he's definitely more amiable than _some_ of the men I know. For example the one I just left to come and talk with you.'

'Oh no, please don't start again on your rant against Malfoy. I know he might seem a bit distant and cold, but he might just be shy.' She said.

I could not stand for this. I could not stand for Chantal actually _defending_ Malfoy.

'Sure,' I replied. 'I'd like to see you spend most of your working week with him in the room.'

'Well, you might have just been unlucky to have such a work colleague. After all I've heard against him I could probably publish a book titled _1 000 001 Reasons to Hate Scorpius Malfoy, as told by Rose Weasley_.'

'More like _10 000 001_ reasons,' I said chuckling.

'At least you got lucky with _him_.' She said while pointedly staring at the waiter coming with the two plates balanced on both hands.

He leaned down to put the plate of cake in front of me and I noticed how his hazel hair was streaked with specks of gold. Which was quite a departure from the usual platinum hair I saw almost _every single day_.

Using her wand Chantal lit the candle. I decided not to embarrass her, and ultimately myself by singing but instead she blew out the candle and we ate and talked about what had happened in our uneventful lives since the last time we had met up like this.

It had always been like this since our third year at Hogwarts: Chantal and I talking animatedly with each other about stuff no one else would be remotely interested in hearing.

I was talking to her about Jana and was probably rambling on about how Jana was _the one _and not just one of Al's many passing infatuations. She now was nodding patiently and routinely checking her watch.

She was bored. To relieve her boredom I gave Chantal her present. She looked inside it carefully and slowly, like a child in anticipation about the gift that Santa left them under the tree. She tried to prise the magically sealed tape unsuccessfully, then attempted with her teeth (needless to say it was unsuccessful) and _finally_ opened the bag with the wand, when she presumably remembered she was _a witch_.

I probed her reaction as she looked down inside the bag.

'Thankyou,' she said. 'Thankyou.'

I had given her a soft white cashmere shawl, something she and I had eyed in a shop window longingly. Unfortunately, it was ridiculously expensive. Fortunately, aid came in the form of a long-neglected voucher to a boutique from Auntie Ginny. If it weren't for an altruistic impulse in me I would have just bought the shawl for myself.

'There's another present underneath.' I said.

The second present was something of a joke really, and I had acquired it only a day earlier. It was one of those prolific self-help books, and the title was one of the longest I had seen: _How to Live Up to the Fact that You've Stuffed up your Life and now having a Mid-life Crisis at the age of 20_. And for the extra, _personal _touch I crossed out the zero in _20_ and neatly replaced it with a _2_.

It was sort of reassuring that the author thought that it was possible to have stuffed up life at the age of 20. Chantal had lived to the ripe old age of 22 and not felt inclined to jump off a bridge yet, and I had lived a _full year _past 20 years of age and not given up hope in my life yet!

After some more long-winded talking Chantal checked her watch again and saw that it was already 15 past 3.

'Sorry Rose but I have to go now. It's _another_ one of those Ernie Macmillan book launches that Flourish and Blotts insists on doing.'

I gave her a parting hug and wave.

'See you soon,' we both said, and then she left, leaving me to finish the remaining of the neglected caramel slice.

While I was finishing my cake, _he _strolled up to me again and I reflected that his walk had none of the swagger of Malfoy's. In fact, if I wasn't mistaken he looked just that little bit shy.

His soft wavy hair tickled his eyebrows, framing the green-blue eyes and inadvertently drew attention to the symmetry of his face. He ever so casually had a tablecloth poking out from the pocket of his jeans and I noticed that he was a fair bit taller and lankier than me.

'Hey,' he said and I replied the same.

'I didn't know you worked here, are you new?' I asked.

'Yes. It's always glad to know we people who work away in shops don't get forgotten by customers.'

He busied himself with uselessly re-stacking the plates and wiping down the table for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

'You know, you don't have to invent a reason to stay here and talk with me. Take a seat, I'm Rose Weasley.' I said laughingly.

He looked pleasantly surprised, and replied, 'Oh. There are a lot of Weasleys around here with their red hair.'

'Yes. I wouldn't be surprised. I have more relatives than I can count.'

'I'm Jake Wickham by the way.'

We spent some time pleasantly, him chatting about his childhood in a lovely part of Wiltshire, and I was listening and throwing in my own appraising comment or two.

I really did enjoy his company, his lyrical voice injecting emotion and anticipation into a typical childhood story of tree climbing, and abruptly ending the story by a large onomatopoeic 'boom'.

He was fishing about in his own pocket for a piece of paper and he hurriedly took a pencil and scribbled something on it.

'What is it?' I asked.

'My address, just in case you need some shelter if you're stone drunk in a dark alleyway or somewhere.' He hurriedly mumbled at the end 'just as friends'.

'Well, if I were ever in desperate need of shelter I would go to my parents' house where they'd give me tea and sympathy, but not before giving me a good lecture about the dangers of hard liquor. Would you forgo the lecture for me, if I ever were stupid enough to end up drunk at your place?'

'Well, me giving you my address was just something random I thought of. I can always rip the piece of paper up.'

He had his hand held out in front of him, ready to shred the paper in half.

'Nah. I'll take it.' I said.

'Really?' he said challengingly. 'I thought your parents would have taught you better than to follow a stranger into their house?

I was silent.

'Are you free next Friday night?' he asked.

'Yes, I think so, why?' I replied.

'The Hog's Head, 8pm, Friday. Don't forget!' he said hurriedly.

He was a lot quicker than me and was already moving out from his chair and balancing with ease the two plates and glass that were left on our table on his arms.

A woman with a severe pulled-back black bun was approaching and about to enter Fortescue's. Jake hurried from the counter back to where she had sat herself down, straightening his small apron on his hips.

I picked up my bag and left, but not without giving Jake Wickham a final glance and mouthing the words 'see you there'. He nodded back and smiled, flashing his pearly whites.

I was fairly sure I was more than half an hour late, but I didn't really care. Malfoy could act all pissed at me for the rest of the day, but it wouldn't matter to me. Next Friday I would be sure to go and talk with Jake (half an hour late), and inevitably complain about Malfoy keeping me in late to finish all our paperwork.

Now I felt as though the Sun, fortune and Venus were beaming down upon me from the Heavens.


	4. Of sparring and scorpions

_A/N: The 'Scorpion' is back in this chapter. Hope you enjoy. _

_J.K. Rowling and Jane Austen (bless her soul) own basically everything. _

Magical Maintenance had obviously given up trying to be creative with the weather. In the fake window it was raining cats and dogs, just like the day before, the day before that _and_ the many days before as well. It was probably a testament to how much I devoted myself to my work that I had no idea whether it was _actually_ raining outside. I hadn't left my desk since a _full eight_ hours ago.

_Click click click; click. Raindrop. Click click click, click click click; click. Raindrop. Thud._

'Malfoy, did you drop anything?'

He grunted in reply.

I swivelled my eyes around to see a typewriter lying full on the floor.

'Malfoy,' I said as I walked over to where he had managed to knock over the clumsy, large and old typewriter, 'you truly have the hand-eye co-ordination of a six-year-old. One truly wonders how you manage to knock something as bulky as a typewriter off a desk.'

His moody behaviour was grating on my nerves, but thankfully it was a Friday night. The end of a working week, yet only two more days before it was back to that never ending cycle of boredom, drudgery and complete sullenness coming from Malfoy at work.

He just sat there staring at me.

God, did he not even have the grace to pick up the typewriter _he _had dropped _himself_? This kind of behaviour really made me despair for the future of humankind. I mean if he ever had kids they would all be annoying pricks that would manage to not respond at all to the pleasant overtures of new acquaintances.

He was a _scorpion_ really. A stupid little creature with those sharp little pincers ready to mortally harm, inject with poison and crush anyone who managed to insult him.

I braced myself as I reached down to pick up the typewriter. You would have thought that the magical world would have adopted for magical use a Muggle laptop or something that was at least remotely light. They just had to use the heaviest and oldest Muggle object they could find and then give it to the whole of the Ministry.

I have to admit I was a bit distracted when I began lifting the typewriter up, with Malfoy a.k.a the scorpion now deciding to walk up to me, most likely about to get off his backside and take the typewriter back to his desk himself.

Stuff it. I was going to do the defiant thing and take the typewriter back to his desk to show what an ungrateful swine he was for the majority of the time.

My hands slipped a little, my feet following, and I cursed myself for wearing those annoying high heels just to impress Jake Wickham. I fell backwards, bottom first onto the floor and the typewriter landing squarely on my feet.

Dropping a typewriter on your own feet is akin to dropping a flowerpot from five feet up.

Ridiculously painful, and also ridiculously embarrassing for the victim and ridiculously funny for a bystander who will obviously revel in the stupidity and thickheadedness of said victim.

This generalisation applied in my current situation.

As I was trying to hold back tears of pain, he was trying to hold back tears of laughter.

He picked the typewriter up off my feet and back to his desk with ease.

'Now, _that _is the definitive definition of irony,' he said laughing and choking at the same time.

'What?' I huffed angrily.

'What, you ask, is the definitive definition of irony? How about telling someone they have the hand-eye co-ordination of a six-year-old and then promptly falling flat on their back after attempting to carry something that probably weighed less than five pounds?' he retaliated.

'In my defence Malfoy, that thing _must _have weighed over ten pounds. And these damn shoes don't help,' I said as I pointed to my shoes.

'Well, it is your choice to wear those cumbersome shoes, you know,' he replied.

'And what, you're willing to go to work wearing a tutu? It might be my choice, except I'll wear these because basically all the female Ministry workers wear them.'

I was still on the floor at that point, and in hindsight it may have seen a tad dramatic to lie on the floor for five minutes just because I had accidentally dropped something. But really, I just wasn't bothered to get up.

'So I take it,' he continued, 'that you're a conformist to social conventions then?'

'No, for the most part. But for topics where I do agree with social conventions I won't bother pretending I'm alternative and rebellious. I won't bother pretending to be something different and hide behind a mask.' I replied.

He was listening and also fixed up the typewriter on his desk and finished typing the document that he was working on. Seeing me still lying on the ground, he walked up to me, offered a hand, which I indignantly accepted, and then he pulled me up.

He helped me smooth out the sleeves of my robes while I used my fingers to flatten down my hair. Malfoy always determinedly held his head down, avoiding my gaze, and when he invariably did look up I saw him. He blushed a little, and then quickly looked down again.

It was slightly awkward.

'I better get going now,' I said, consulting my watch and walking to my desk.

'Now? It's only 7:30pm and you usually stay until 8:30 on a Friday,' he said back.

I retrieved my bag from underneath my desk.

'Well, more like you stare me down with those grey eyes of yours and then manage to get me into a hypnotic trance so I stay until unhealthily late at night at work.' I replied.

'I promised him that I would be there at eight,' I said, already throwing stuff into my bag.

Malfoy said incredulously, 'A _he_?'

'Yes,' I said. 'It is a _he_, as you so eloquently put it. To be specific in fact, he is a Jake Wickham.'

I was looking closely at Malfoy to see his reaction, and I saw a flit of anger and danger pass in his eyes, rather like a pebble being thrown and causing a ripple in a glassy lake.

'Jake Wickham: I wouldn't recommend you going near him,' he said tetchily.

To say the least, I was irritated with him. What right did he have to say whom I could associate with and whom I couldn't? He was sounding rather like an over-protective father, not that he had the right to act like one.

'Great. He would be absolutely delighted to know that someone who had never met him would direct pure loathing at him.' I replied.

My sarcastic comment was badly timed perhaps, as Malfoy was actually angry.

'Wickham is a dangerous man,' he said simply, striding up to the door and blocking it.

I had finished my tidying up and was standing up to leave now.

'Malfoy,' I said while smiling and shrugging my shoulders to the curious people outside our (glass) office wondering why a fully-grown man would be raising their arms trying to block someone from going out of a room.

He didn't budge an inch.

I had reached the door now.

'Please, let me through. Did I inform you that there are people outside staring at you and me, wondering what kind of an idiot would try and incarcerate someone in a room against their will?'

He immediately turned around, his face rapidly reddening some more at seeing the people in turn staring at him. And yet, he still didn't move out of the way.

'I've tried polite persuasion and argument, and now its time to use force,' I said.

He saw sense and was trying to move out of the way, but we were in that completely awkward situation where none of us could get past one another. We moved to the left, to the right and on and on.

After a while he inconveniently decided to walk straight into me.

Our bodies collided as he tried to get by. He managed to elbow me in the ribs, making me recoil back for a little and swear succinctly under my breath.

'What did you do that for Malfoy?' I asked.

'Sorry.'

'Malfoy, you really don't know how much fun I'm going to have regaling Wickham with tales of 'Scorpion' Malfoy blocking doorways and punching poor maidens who happen to work with you.' I said in lieu of a parting greeting.

I turned backwards when I was just out of the door, and I could see Malfoy staring at me with raised eyebrows and shaking his head slightly.

Undoubtedly my nickname of 'scorpion' wasn't original, but it was creative enough for me.

The pair of co-workers outside our office was still hanging about near the doorway and I could see from their queer glances that they thought me as much of a blithering idiot as Malfoy.

'Don't worry,' I said to them. 'He's from the mental ward in St. Mungo's. I drew the short straw so I got him as a work partner.'

This joke was all in jest but I think that didn't carry to the pair of co-workers who were standing there, with their sensibility shocked and offended.

In case Malfoy didn't get the joke either, I gave him a mighty big wink, then got the hell out of there as fast as my dignity would allow. 


	5. In which a reputation is ruined

_A/N: This chapter's basically an information dump._

_I am not J.K. Rowling, who is unlikely to be using a fanfiction website. Nor am I Jane Austen, who probably would roll over in her grave at the very thought of using a computer._

Despite the weather windows at the ministry being notoriously dodgy, it was actually raining pretty spectacularly, and being my usual messy, unorganised self I had not brought an umbrella.

I nearly kicked myself when I remembered that I had debated whether or not to bring the umbrella when I saw rain splashing and trickling down gently on my window. I decided not to bring it, and managed to stay mainly dry in the light and barely perceptible shower.

That _tiny _little decision that my woozy morning head made accounted for my drenching when I apparated to outside the Hog's Head.

Damn it, was it really necessary to enforce common wizard courtesy regarding apparation when I was liable to get hypothermia from the rain?

Wickham was a lifesaver. Literally. He was sitting near the rain-streaked windows, looking out for me and out he came with a cloak over his head, sheltering me from most of the rain as we walked into the toasty and ridiculously rustic pub.

The lone attendant to the pub was looking moodily upon us. He was busy wiping dirty glasses, and when he looked up he had such a pair of penetrating, piercing, twinkling eyes that I thought he was reading my mind.

I presumed the angry staring could be attributed to Wickham bringing in a wet cloak that dripped water all over the floors. But what right did the attendant (more like owner) have to complain about the water on the floors? It was probably cleaned more by the dripping wet cloack than it had ever been in the past several decades.

Wickham hailed for the surly pub owner and ordered two butterbeers.

Good. No strong alcohol then.

'I hope you've had something to eat. I was thinking about ordering some form of food here, but I don't think the food here is exactly five-star. I wouldn't have it any less for you. How was your week?' he asked.

'My week's been absolutely _great_.' I deadpanned.

'And no, unfortunately, I haven't been able to eat something before apparating here in this ungodly weather.' I added.

'Well in that case,' he replied and looked over his shoulder, 'I do have some croissants I picked up at a random store.'

'Won't the barman mind?' I asked worryingly. The barman didn't exactly look like the kind of person I wanted to anger too much.

'No. I don't think so at least.'

With that reassurance I decided to make a grab for a limp croissant that Jake put onto the table. The barman's reprimand for the obviously BYO food could wait until my hunger was assuaged.

We dug into the food as we anxiously angled our chairs away from the barman.

'You were a little late today. You can't have possibly kept in by work, could you?' he asked.

'It was only five minutes. But yes, I was kept in a bit by a scorpion.'

'Scorpion? What kind of name is that?'

'Oh nothing, just a nickname.' I replied.

'Would you be referring to Scorpius Malfoy?' Only that I used that nickname too. Funny that.'

'You know him?' I said incredulously. 'And Malfoy was calling you, I quote, a _dangerous man_!'

'Well, I suppose I am dangerous.' He said.

'What?'

'Dangerous to his reputation.'

I let out a sigh of relief. I wasn't in the company of a serial killer or anything.

We hid our croissants as the owner clunked the two glasses of butterbeer onto our table.

'I have known the Malfoy family since I was young; my family has been connected with his since I can remember.'

I was curious, and wondered what Malfoy was like when he was a little kid. I could almost imagine Jake Wickham coming over to the Malfoy's house (obviously large and intimidating and more like a mansion) throwing snowballs at him, and Malfoy standing unflinching.

'I can't imagine that Malfoy was exactly pleasant as a kid, judging by his less than pleasant behaviour at the present.' I said.

Wickham finished chewing on his croissant and looked thoughtfully out the window.

'You're right. Malfoy wasn't really the greatest company when he was a kid, but at least at that point he wasn't completely indoctrinated with his high and mighty ideals of blood purity. You see, my father was a wizard, but my mother was a muggle.'

'Half-blood then,' I replied.

'Yes.'

'You still haven't really explained why you had to even see Malfoy at all.'

'My dad managed all the money and expenditure of the Malfoy family and all that kind of thing.'

'I thought goblins could do that? At Gringotts.' I asked.

'Well, my dad's role was something more like a financial advisor. Anyway, my family wasn't exactly rich so Malfoy elder –

'Not Lucius Malfoy!' I interjected.

'No,' he answered. 'He died of Dragon Pox, or something of that sort. I was talking about Draco Malfoy.'

'Whenever someone mentions his name my father looks like he wants to punch someone in the face really hard.'

'Mr. Malfoy offered us a modest house on his property Malfoy Manor free of rent for us to live in, and deducted it from the salary my father received.'

I was mildly surprised. I was really under the impression that Malfoy (senior) couldn't really have that kind of generous streak in him to offer someone a place to live in. Maybe it was all just a ruse to keep his accountant close by to pester and annoy.

I tried to also remember whether I ever saw Jake at Hogwarts or ever heard his name mentioned there.

'Did you ever go to Hogwarts?' I asked.

'No. My dad home-schooled me, especially honing me for the role of financial advisor to the Malfoy family when he died.'

'This must be the interesting bit then. I'm pretty sure that you aren't the financial advisor the Malfoys now.'

He gave me a smile, confirming my suspicion and continued to talk thereon in a wistful voice.

'My father and mother both died only a few months or so after I became of age. I took on the role as Malfoy family accountant for about half a year and then was forcibly asked to quit and give up the small house I had lived in from birth by Scorpius Malfoy, who essentially was the master of the house because Draco and Astoria Malfoy had permanently retreated to a house on the French Riviera.'

I was shocked, and though Malfoy's cold, proud and domineering personality hadn't exactly put him in my favour, I hadn't thought that he could act so ill against someone who he had grown up with, who hadn't ever done any wrong.

'Why?' I said. 'You hadn't ever done Malfoy anything bad. Why did Malfoy force you out of your job with apparently no reason at all? He must really hate you for a non-existent reason.'

'I guess.' He replied.

'In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that he hates me. No hard feelings though, because I hate him well enough, acting like a fancy gentleman and calling me 'barely pretty' after one day of working together. And I swear, the only time I saw him do anything remotely like smiling was when I had made a complete fool of myself. I'm just trying to annoy the hell out of him, like he does to me.' I ranted.

'Don't worry. Malfoy has a particular ability to annoy people. In the summer holidays, when he would return from Hogwarts, he would just coldly greet me and then despite us being thrown together a lot of times during the summer holidays he would just ignore me as though I was a stranger.' He said.

We continued trading our own stories of Malfoy and generally abusing him. There was a particularly funny one that Jake told me that involved Malfoy grabbing a cup of pumpkin juice and pouring it over Jake on purpose. And Jake also laughed a lot when I told him the time that I came into the office overhearing Malfoy say –

'Stupid red-haired girl! Why do they have to be so annoying and cause so many problems?'

I also took the liberty to ask Jake about Burke.

'Jake, could you tell me about Cassiopeia Burke? I heard she's cousin to Malfoy, but I swear every time I saw her and Malfoy together she's trying to throw herself on him. Or maybe incest is still a standing bastion of tradition in the Malfoy family?'

Jake related to me the whole story, making it sound like a badly written drama.

The 'official' story circulated by the Burke/Malfoy family clan was that Cassiopeia Burke and Scorpius Malfoy were second cousins, their common great-grandparents being Abraxas Malfoy.

The daughter of Abraxas Malfoy, sister to Lucius Malfoy was a Kareena Malfoy, an ill-tempered, proud, pompous and conceited woman according to Jake. This Malfoy daughter was quickly married off to a Burke, another of those random pureblood families. They had one son.

This was where the 'official truth' was proven wrong.

This son of Kareena Burke, Probity Burke married a simpering pureblood, and they had one son. Apparently they also had one daughter, Cassiopeia Burke, but this was only a partial truth.

The simpering pureblood had run off with a muggle, and she had had one daughter with him. The pair died soon after, and the muggle authorities deemed it an unsolved homicide. Jake reckoned it was retribution from part of the sprawling Burke family for the dishonour of having an illegitimate child.

This orphaned daughter was rechristened 'Cassiopeia Burke' to fit in with the family.

In time, Kareena Burke tried to get Scorpius Malfoy and Cassiopeia Burke together and it was an anticipated event in the family.

It was satisfying to think that Malfoy would have to stand up to Cassiopeia Burke's simpering and artifice in matrimony.

So, the actual fact of the matter was that Cassiopeia Burke was indeed a second cousin of Scorpius Malfoy, but definitely not by blood.

I was absolutely confused at first by this tale, but with a pencil Jake had drawn out the family tree on the wooden table, and clarified the whole matter.

To be honest, the truth was more sensational and complicated to believe than my original thought of the second cousins just marrying.

Jake, on the subject of family also talked about Lola Malfoy, whom I had heard nothing about except from the exaggerated and untruthful mouth of Burke. Apparently Lola was a nice and cheerful enough girl when she was young but she was turned by her family, and in particular by the example of her proud brother, into a quiet and excessively proud young woman.

'Just one more thing. Do you have any idea how my cousin Al could possibly be best mates with Scorpius Malfoy?'

'Malfoy can be talkative, entertaining and loyal when he wants to. Especially to those whose names are well-known to the whole wizarding world.'

That would explain it then.

The owner of the pub came to collect our now empty glasses of butterbeer. He took one look at the family tree on the table and he shooed us out indignantly. We hurriedly collected our things and rushed outside, where thankfully the rain had cleared completely.

'So Jake, will you come to a dance with me on December the 19th? Potter Yuletide ball, and I have a guaranteed invite with allowance for a date. And on the plus side, Malfoy will definitely be there and you can annoy him a bit.'

'Well,' he said. 'I won't be scared out of going with you because of Malfoy being there, but I'm pretty sure Malfoy will be a coward and not turn up in fear that I might tell everyone the truth about our long, long history.'

'I'll take that as a yes then. Malfoy would probably run away in case you mention that he's reduced you to working as a waiter in several assorted eateries.'

He gave me a gallant kiss on the cheek and with that we parted ways in the black, black night.

_A/N: Confusing or what? I spent quite a bit thinking about the Malfoy/Burke family tree thing (many names stolen off Rowling's Black Family Tree) and I think it does make sense. To me at least. _


	6. A Winter Night

_A/N: Jana is back, and I'm inserting the scene where they talk about Albus here. I don't claim ownership of Harry Potter or Pride and Prejudice._

A fruity scent hung in the air, wafting. Sweet, lilting, muted jazz blared from the radio. Candles were interspersed throughout the room, reflecting to infinite in the numerous mirrors.

I had objected at first to Jana's scheme of 'redecorating' my apartment. I really didn't like the idea of my private area being invaded, but with her gentle, sweet yet rational argument she managed to convince me to let her into my apartment.

She simply was appalled at how I left everything all over the place. I had left a stack on my bedside table ten books high. She immediately remedied this by pulling out her wand, and the books zoomed back into the shelves.

I was forced to admit that after the afternoon when Jana put everything in my apartment back in order, it did feel much larger and more comfortable.

The 'feminisation' of my apartment had actually made it a place where I could unwind after a day of work without falling over a stray inkbottle.

Maybe Jana should have been an interior decorator: she would have definitely made a good one. My apartment was now part minimalist chic, part bohemian with the black and white batik curtains and a new red and black striped tablecloth.

There was nothing bohemian about the dress that Jana had on now.

It was a delicate shade of seafoam, with pleats of chiffon falling to the floor. It was a strapless dress, leaving her shoulders bare apart from the few strands of hair already starting to fall out of her loose bun. She wore a simple white ribbon in her hair, and white pearl studs in her ears.

Her skin was lustrous in a way that would have made me jealous if she was not smiling and laughing in such an unpretentious way.

I felt daggy in my loose pants and old cardigan while I was affixing a small pearl necklace to her neck.

'Rose, do you think Al will like my dress?' Jana asked nervously.

'He wouldn't be so mean to say you looked horrible in front of everyone,' I replied. 'But you look fantastic. Al will be dancing with you for half the night, and will stare longingly at you for the other half where you will inevitably dance with lots of other men whom you were too kind to refuse.'

She responded happily to my reply. 'Al's such a gentleman, always opening doors for me and pulling out the chair for me and he always insists on paying the bill on all of the dinners we've been too!'

'Al always tends to overdo his kindness like that.' I said. 'The only time his brother James pulled a chair out for me was for a prank, and I landed on my bottom.'

I winced remembering that I had also caused Grandma Molly to trip and everyone was covered with food.

'And Al has such great conversation as well! I mentioned some of the work I was doing about the dispute over the new American ambassador to Britain and he knew so much about it!'

To be honest I wasn't remotely interested in American politics.

'You should have a shower now and get changed. We only have an hour and a half left.' Jana said again. She had gotten changed first because I didn't really want to stay in my formal dress for the whole ball plus two or three hours before.

I turned on the shower, ran the water over my hair and body, got out and quickly dried my hair with a drying charm.

My dress was the pride and joy of my wardrobe. In a frenzied irrational state brought on by an unexpected windfall of money, I had bought it, not knowing whether I would wear it.

I was glad I bought it now. I slipped the smooth silk over my body, feeling it hugging the top half of my body and the material flaring out at the waist. Unlike Jana's dress mine was not strapless. However, like her dress it was floor-length.

Jana looked up while I entered the room.

'Rose, you look fabulous. Let me do your hair.' She said, literally dragging me to our little make-up chair.

While she was combing my hair, I related to her the history of Malfoy and Wickham.

'I don't think it's true. I gathered that you didn't like Malfoy, but no-one would be so mean to kick someone out of a house and job that was basically a birthright,' she said, despairing that any friend of Al's could be so cruel, let alone any old person.

'You're just way too nice. I think that Malfoy fell out with Wickham and Malfoy exacted his revenge by ruining Jake's livelihood. Malfoy likes to have his own way, all of the time. Or maybe he thought that anyone less than a pureblood could never manage to look after his money properly.'

I recalled the time three days ago that Malfoy had walked me back to my apartment after a heated day at work.

'_Does it really matter how you set it out?' I asked, frustrated._

'_Yes it does Weasley! We have to keep the formatting uniform otherwise there's no point of us typing it all out to only find that no-one in the Ministry can read the notes because they're all set out differently.'_

_I was getting really annoyed: his proposal was that I redo all the paperwork I had done for a week in his way. His way was the so-called official way._

'_You might not understand this Weasley but the whole efficiency of the Ministry depends on consistency!' He shouted loudly._

_I walked to his desk and slammed it so all his paperwork fell onto the floor. _

'_For Christ's sake Malfoy, the only thing that I did different to you is that I put periods in my dates instead of forward slashes! The only day we end early you find such an implausible reason to keep us in! It's as though you want to stay in my company for longer!' I screamed, losing my patience._

_Malfoy seemed to acquiesce and picked up the papers, ordered them, sent them away and put his cloak on. I did likewise. _

_We walked in the foyer side-by-side, trying to ignore each other after our argument. _

_We exited into the unforgiving night. The pavement was wet with sleet. _

_I headed for my apartment without wishing him a goodbye. _

_Turning around, I saw him look concernedly at me, walking in the distance. He rushed up next to me. _

'_Malfoy. You can go now. I'm just walking back home.' I said._

'_You might slip and fall. Take my hand.'_

'_And why would I?'_

_He ignored me and he grabbed my hand. I felt like a child, being made to hold hands with someone. _

_It was in this less than amicable atmosphere that we walked just over a quarter of a mile. _

_I reached in my handbag for the weird fob thing that would open up the door to the apartment complex. Malfoy looked thoroughly cold, and I couldn't just leave him to walk further just so he could apparate out of sight of Muggles._

'_Er… Thanks for walking me back,' I said while fumbling with my numb fingers. We walked into the sparse foyer. 'Would you like to come up for a cup of… tea?'_

'_That would be nice.'_

_He followed my lead and walked up the sole flight of stairs to my door._

_This time I fumbled slightly less with the keys, my fingers already being warmed up by being inside. I opened the door and let him in first. I don't know whether the small mumble he let out was a thankyou or not._

_He looked around for a seat to sit on, and finding one he sat down. He looked distastefully at the flat-pack furniture I had gotten from the brilliant Muggle store Ikea. Jana had suggested it to me, and we assembled it with magic, quite happy with the simple and neat results. _

'_Your apartment is not very luxurious.' _

'_Not every one has, you know, a golden chandelier or something to furnish their house with,' I said while pouring boiled water into a cup with a teabag. 'Sugar or milk?'_

'_Milk please.' He replied, now staring intently at the smiling photos of me as a little child hanging upon the wall. _

_He then caught sight of my stuffed toy dog, a touch of _kitsch_ that Jana had allowed in my apartment, and she called my brown, spotted and slightly threadbare dog 'cute'._

'_I thought most people left stuffed toys behind in their adolescence.' He said._

'_There's nothing immature about a stuffed toy.'_

'_Absolutely nothing immature.' He mimicked._

'_I can't tell whether that's sarcasm or not. I hope it is.' I said, frowning._

_I poured the milk in and gave the cup to him. He drank it quickly. He stood up to leave._

'_See you tomorrow.' I said, rather glad to see the back of him._

'_Make sure you arrive on time. You were five minutes late today.' He replied and then left, making sure not to close the door with a loud slam._

Seriously, why did he bother? To walk me all the way back home just to criticise me and waste his own energy? It was weird that he would bother to try and help me when it was so clear that he hated being in my company.

'Rose? What colour eyeshadow do you want – green or blue?'

I was knocked out of my reflective daze when she asked me the question. The image of Malfoy's chiselled face saying how immature I was over and over again disappeared and was replaced by the image of Jana standing over me, wand up and ready to apply make-up.

'Uh… Blue please.'

After some neat charms and wandwork on Jana's part my lipstick all those niggly bits of make-up were applied, and done quite a lot better than I could have ever done.

I looked into a mirror.

I really couldn't admit to myself that I was beautiful, for fear of being arrogant even in my own internal monologue.

But though my conscious thought might have denied that I was beautiful I definitely did feel that way.

The midnight blue silk was slippery like fluid, skimming over my hips. The v-neck was cut nicely, not in any indecent way but still lower than was appropriate for the weather.

My red hair was not _flying about in my face_ but was brushed back and held there with a Holding charm. Delicate earrings in the shapes of tears adorned my ears and the necklace I was wearing was made of a thin gold chain with a purple mosaic-like pendant, and a plain silver chain from my parents on my 17th birthday hung on my wrist.

I was staring at my own face and it was staring back at me with coal eyelashes and a swooping line of black to accentuate the hazel eyes that shimmered in the candlelight.

'See Rose, I'm not the only one here who, as you put it, looks _fantastic_. You look pretty fantastic yourself.' Jana said.

I cut quite a nice silhouette in the dim light of the room, with small feminine curves. I hoped it would stay that way after grabbing the many canapés and champagne that roved around.

'You can stop looking in the mirror now. We should leave or we'll be late.'

'Fashionably late Jana.' I said but nonetheless I grabbed my bag and the pittance of thin crepe that constituted my shawl for the frosty December night.

I put out all of the candles.

The stars were shining strong and bright through my window and as we left I felt and looked like a dressed-up Muggle going to a fancy party, with their jewellery a-twinkle.


	7. Cold

_A/N: Potter Yuletide Ball (a.k.a. Netherfield Ball) is here. Rose's POV – I'm planning to switch perspectives next chapter – yes, Malfoy. It should be interesting, and I might try 3__rd__ person instead of 1__st__. _

_I do not own Harry Potter and Jane Austen etc. etc. _

_Anyway, enjoy!_

'You're the second-last people to arrive on the invite list.' Al said.

'Al! Let me in!' I shouted angrily as I hugged my arms around my shoulders for dear life.

Al smiled a little cheeky smile and then whispered in Jana's ear.

'Go in first okay? And get me a butterbeer; I'll be in soon.' I heard him whisper to Jana. Jana giggled nervously, and then walked in. As she opened and closed the door I could feel the rush of warm air flow over me.

Damn Jana and Al. Why was Al keeping me bloody out of the warm sanctuary of the Ministry atrium? Did Al _finally _getting a devoted, loving girlfriend make him all cocky?

I stomped my feet a little, not trying to stamp to hard in case the heel broke. Looking around, I saw no Wickham.

'Al. You said I was the last one to arrive here, didn't you?' I asked, hoping he would follow my gist.

A sleek figure in a crisp set of black robes stirred a little.

'Not Wickham. Weasley, don't even talk about him.' He said.

I jumped a bit when I heard his now familiar voice. I had to give it to Malfoy; he could blend straight into the background easily and could hold his tongue far better than mine.

'Malfoy. What are you doing here? And are you still not honestly past your little disagreement with Wickham? He'll be here tonight, and I was going to ask Al about him.' I said.

'Your lovesick cousin dragged me out here in this cold weather to help him meet and greet people.'

'Hey, you should have a Potter to greet the people to the Potter Yuletide Ball. And it's too bad Al chose your hopelessly boring company to share, thereby making you stay outside for an inordinate amount of time. But aren't you made of titanium anyway?' I said sarcastically.

'What's titanium?' Al chirped in.

'Silver-grey metal, Al.' Malfoy said.

'I feel really stupid around you two, and especially when your force is combined together in a conversation. You two really freak me out.' Al said incredulously. 'I'll bet you that Scor here has memorized the whole of the personofi –

'Periodic table Al.' I said. I had nothing against Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry's education, but maybe they should have devoted more time to Muggle science. Or maybe Al was designed to be cute and clueless.

'I have actually. Up to element fifty at least. Not sure about the rest.' Malfoy replied unassumingly.

'Show-off.' I muttered under my breath.

'What did you say?' Malfoy asked.

'Tell me where Wickham is! You sound like you know.' I said hurriedly, instead of admitting that I called him a show-off. The wrath that would fall upon me would be immense.

'I can tell you Rose. He came two or three hours ago to say he wouldn't be coming. He asked me to send his apologies to you.' Al said apologetically.

To say I was slightly disappointed was an understatement. I trusted Jake to come with me, and I was looking forward to a dance or two or twelve with him. I stood there silently and my newly suspicious glare fell upon Malfoy.

I could feel my brain spouting out ridiculous ideas.

Maybe Malfoy threatened a painful death involving staples via letter for Wickham if he dared to turn up! Or Malfoy might have transfigured Wickham into a carrot if he saw Wickham with me!

I liked to blame my irrationality on the cold temperature of a winter night.

It was much easier for my mind to label Malfoy a scoundrel for preventing Wickham from coming to the ball than to label Wickham a scoundrel for not honouring his promise of coming to the Potter Yuletide Ball with me.

My gut instinct about Wickham being prevented from coming by the evil of Malfoy was probably right anyway: my feminine intuition had a knack for being spot on.

'Are you going to decide to let me in anytime soon?' I said wearily to Al and Malfoy. 'I'm a girl; my dress doesn't have as much padding as your formal robes.'

We stood there in silence for a while, and in the light of the shining stars I could see the clear juxtaposition between the cheery figure in festive green-trimmed black robes holding the door open for me with a smile on his dial and the sullen figure nonchalantly folding his arms while managing to hold the other side of the door open.

'Guys, have fun while waiting for that last guest to turn up. The guest might not turn up for ages and you two will have to stay out here for a long, long time.'

I hurriedly walked in, looking back outside with a smile, feeling slightly sorry for the two of them waiting for some highly unreliable guest to turn up in the barely hospitable climate.

I was ashamed to admit it, but every time I walked into the atrium on the night of the Potter Yuletide Ball I felt the incessant urge to shout 'blimey' at the top of my voice.

Everyday I walked through the foreboding black-tiled atrium, usually muttering a stream of insults towards my work and colleague, finding it rather therapeutic to get rid of my annoyance before punching someone in the face.

Today however the atrium for me was a place of a rather different emotion. The walls were a pretty off-white, with gorgeous red and green and silk tablecloths and the usual erect and boring pillars of the atrium were covered with small white crystals, reflecting light like tiny little diamonds.

The atrium was delicately lit with candlelight, throwing everyone in their formal dresses into soft focus and making them look like a Bernini sculpture, with flowing folds of fabric framing their body.

A tray with flutes of champagne roved around. I grabbed one and gulped the bubbly and fruity liquid down. It didn't exactly help deal with my hunger pangs though.

I saw a flash of red in front of me and then a pair of hands covered my eyes.

'Chantal, you have no idea how long I had to sit down to get my hair and make-up right. You owe me one!' I said, panicked.

Chantal removed her hands from my eyes, took out her wand and fixed my make-up.

'You like?' Chantal said and did a whirl, with the full red bottom flaring out like that of a flamenco dancer's.

'Very much. Much better than last year's fuchsia disaster.' I said, remembering the looks that Chantal and I were give when we walked together, hand in hand.

'I thought so too. I ditched the costume jewelry too, and went for the simple necklace with the cross pendant.' She said.

'Sit down, will you?' I asked Chantal. We sat together on one of the tables on the edge of the room, watching nearly everybody standing up and dancing as though it were the time of their lives.

I felt a hand touch my hand briefly touch mine and I nearly shrieked. Who the hell was it?

I saw Jana out of the corner of my eye, talking and laughing wildly with Al.

'Jana looks happy enough,' said Chantal.

'Is it just this time or am I completely blind to things that other people always notice? How come I didn't see Jana come by?'

'Maybe you just need a pair of glasses. You never know.' Chantal said teasingly. 'Or maybe you need a hearing aid. They were talking fairly loud as well.'

'Those two: they're so in love! One day I'll have to be a bridesmaid at their wedding.' I said longingly.

'Don't get your hopes too high.' Chantal said.

'Always the pessimist aren't you? Glass half empty rather than half full person you are. I've learnt to look on the bright side of things, because if you don't you'll just end up with a severe case of depression and a belief of self insignificance.'

Chantal measured her words out carefully, before saying them. I could tell because of that sheepish expression on her face.

'Jana's very sweet, but she doesn't _look_ as though she's hopelessly in love, she doesn't treat Al better than anyone else.' She said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.'

'But that's the way Jana is! She treats everyone kindly, and has a smile for everyone!' I argued.

'Better to be sure than not sure,' she said evenly.

'Sure of what?' I asked, already suspecting that I knew what Chantal was talking about.

'Sure that Al will keep dating her, because he might get tired of staying by her side while she looks so unaffected by him.'

'You're such a mercenary little person Chantal.' I said while laughing. 'Do you seriously think Al doesn't know Jana well enough to see that she's head over heels in love with her? You should hear the way she talks about him. It's like the whole of her life was only made worth living by Al!'

'I'm not so sure,' she said, looking genuinely worried for Jana and her (supposed) impending heartbreak.

'I just think Jana likes to internalize her feelings.'

The song ended with a flourish from all of the string orchestra.

'Would you like a dance?' A vaguely familiar face from NEWT Herbology asked me, with a cheeky smile and little bobbing brown curls.

I looked at Chantal and she shrugged her shoulders and then smiled, a plate of chocolates appearing in front of her from the table.

'It's fine,' she said in between a mouthful of chocolate. 'I'm happy here just with my chocolate.'

He offered his hand and we had a nice conversation about what we did after school, with him being an apprentice healer (surprise, surprise, with him taking Herbology) at St. Mungo's. We talked most of the time, with him trying to avoid stepping on my feet.

In short he was nice but dull and when the dance ended I managed to call him the wrong name. I walked quickly away from him, hoping he didn't think any worse of me.

It was like this for many, many dances. Either I was dancing with Mr.-Conservative-Nice-but-Dull-Smith or for one particularly slow waltz I was tricked into dancing with some freak that couldn't take his eyes off the v-cut of my dress. I nearly walked out halfway through the dance when his hands slipped too low, but his hold on me was too tight.

To say that after that dance I was relieved would be an understatement.

As I sat down for a hot chocolate Teddy came and took the seat opposite me.

'Teddy! I didn't know you'd be here. I thought you would be dancing with Victoire.' I said, surprised to see him.

'Nah, Vic's gone to dance with an old friend from Hogwarts.' He said casually, flashing a quick little smile.

'By the way, I like the red hair. Was that because of the Christmas thing or have you finally decided that you're actually going to be a Weasley?'

'Vic wouldn't mind me marrying her. Just haven't found the right time to pop the question.'

'Oh well. I'm surprised that you aren't jealous of the guy who's dancing with Victoire.'

'I am!' he said while pummeling the table in mock anger with his fists. 'Vic's just too good looking for her own good.'

'I second that.'

Teddy looked around and didn't see Vic anywhere. After hearing the song finish he turned to me and said, 'Would you like a dance?'

'Wouldn't Vic get jealous then?' I said, knowing that she was part-Veela and could still make a pretty spectacular tantrum if she was determined upon it.

'Don't worry. Vic knows I'm not attractive enough to get anyone to fall in love with me.' He said deprecatingly.

'If you say so,' I answered, and then we danced together for a while, in the silence of complete understanding and with absolutely no awkwardness.

It was perhaps an amazing coincidence that at the end of the dance that Teddy and I ended up next to Chantal and her partner.

'Chantal,' I called to her. She didn't hear me because she was in conversation with her partner. I repeated her name.

'Yes?' Chantal said.

Teddy gave me a quick wave goodbye as he saw Victoire in the distance.

'Introduce me to your partner. I thought he looked familiar.' I said to her.

Chantal ushered him to the table we were now sitting at.

I offered him a seat, but he refused, using his annoying and patronizing voice, sounding oddly alien. I was a bit superficial, already judging Chantal's partner as a loser, but Chantal was infinitely better at picking up somebody's real character and admiring them for that.

'Probity Burke,' he said, extending his sweaty palm out towards me.

I was slightly repelled by both his sweaty palm and my prior knowledge of his behaviour and manner, but I still shook his hand.

Chantal caught the disgusted look in my eye and jumped in to save the situation from descending from bad to worse.

'Rose, I'm surprised you said you had seen him. He finished Hogwarts long before we started.' She said, her voice higher than it usually was.

'I've heard much about you, Rose Weasley. Chantal has praised you much already in the few weeks we've known each other.' He said, with his horrible overbite protruding right in front of my face.

A few weeks? And Chantal still _danced_ with him? I looked at her in horror. Chantal then made a plausible excuse for us to go the bathroom together, and I scurried along.

As soon as we closed the door Chantal started to speak, sensing that I was about to overflow with my own sentiments.

'I know he's not –

'Chantal!' I shouted out in despair. 'You couldn't have possibly aimed any lower with _Probity Burke_! He's absolutely atrocious!'

'Rose –

'He's a full _seven _years older than us and he happens to be an arrogant, self-eaten bastard!'

'Rose. Before you go any further, listen to me.' She said, hoping to calm me down with soft words and rational reasoning.

'You deserve someone better, Chantal. Even if you are only seeing him temporarily.' I said empathetically.

'My parents know him well, and they've set me up with him. I'll be going to his mother's home, which is where he lives, in two days time where we will decide whether we want to continue our relationship further by spending a short holiday together.' She said, before taking a deep breath.

'This doesn't sound like you at all Chantal,' I said, full knowing and feeling that this was exactly the kind of thing Chantal would do that I wouldn't. 'Are you sure this is what you want?'

Chantal gazed into the mirror.

'This is what I want. I wasn't ever as romantic as you, and if I do end up marrying him I'll have money and food to live on everyday.' She said.

'But you can work to make your own living. Be independent! Liven up!'

She turned and placed a hand on my arm. 'Rose, I know you'll be successful in your career and you'll be swept off your feet by a handsome, rich young man. But I don't have your wit, charm and passion. I don't have the luxury of indulging daydreams where I always end up with my Prince Charming.'

'Is this what you want?' I repeated, this time at a volume barely above a whisper and with tears of sadness in my eyes.

She looked into my eyes. 'I don't know, but I'm going to go with it.'

She walked into a cubicle and locked the door. Did she know what she was getting herself into?

I looked onto the floor outside Chantal's cubicle and there was a piece of toilet paper with writing on it.

_Come with me on this holiday? I'll meet you at my apartment, I know you have a break until the 10__th__ of January. Pack well. _

I found a pen somewhere in my bag and wrote back a reply.

_Yes. But I'll have to convince my parents to let me miss out on the Weasley Xmas celebrations._

I pushed the note back under her door and she gave a watery chuckle.

Feeling rather more sober I walked back out onto the dance floor again.

I saw Burke come towards me with his eyes on me. There was nowhere to run or hide. I did an 180º spin and then saw Malfoy, also looking like he was coming towards me to ask for a dance.

Which was the lesser of the two evils? Malfoy or Burke?

I started walking towards Malfoy. Thankfully Burke took the hint and walked away from me, presumably going to find Chantal again.

With his typical inscrutable expression he asked for a dance.

'Yes,' I said, feeling that with Mafloy we had a mutual understanding of loathing and hatred on both sides.

With ease he put his arm around me and his hand on my back, and I did likewise. We swayed to the music and moved around, with an uncomfortable silence prevailing.

'You know how you said that you didn't like to dance? You know, on that night you said that I was barely pretty?' I asked, hoping to embarrass me.

'I do remember.' He replied, staring me hard in the eyes.

'Well, you actually aren't bad at dancing.' I said.

'You said that just to get conversation.'

'Oh yeah, I totally like to act all sullen and silent like a hormonal teenager.' I said sarcastically.

'You… look prettier than usual.' He said, in such an uncertain voice that I wasn't accustomed to.

'And do I usually look horrible?'

'No. Just not so mature.' Said Malfoy, staring at the pendant of my necklace.

'Your hands are cold.' I said, suddenly feeling a chill run down my spine.

With this he held me closer and we were so close that I could feel his heart beat and could hear the heartbeat echo in my ear. I heard him take a sharp intake of breath and then he started to guide me to dance in tight circles.

I looked up to his face and saw his thin lips parted, and his eyes shining with the reflection of my red hair in the irises. In the peculiar lighting I noticed that the angularity of his face was accentuated, and the jawbone and his other features jutted out at all the right angles.

'What did you do to Wickham?' I demanded.

'Nothing he didn't deserve.' He replied calmly.

'You treat and talk of him like scum, yet his done nothing wrong. How can your conscience be clear?' I asked him angrily.

'Don't talk about Wickham.' He said hoarsely.

From then on he started guiding me around more roughly but I still saw a different emotion in his face, something unrecognizable. By the end of the dance our bodies were completely touching and our noses just.

'Thankyou for the dance.' He said, running his hand across my arm after taking it off my back. Almost as an afterthought he gave me a kiss on the cheek. Almost out of instinct more than anything else I put my hand to where his lips had touched my skin and I could feel it burn hot.

'Hermione!' I heard someone shout behind me. 'He _kissed _her!'

I turned around to see mum trying to desperately silence dad, who was already attracting quite a few dirty looks.

'Hi mum! Hi dad! Did I do anything wrong?'

Before mum could say anything more than a greeting my dad had burst into speech again.

'You didn't do anything wrong, it was that git Malfoy! Just the same as his father, that slimy bastard laying his hands on my daughter!' He said angrily.

'Dad, I agreed to dance with him.' I said wearily, remembering my first date and the subsequent arrival of my dad in Hogsmeade halfway through to thoroughly ruin it.

'Ron, you know Rose works with him? She can't just treat him like you tell her to treat all the Malfoys.'

'Bloody Hell Hermione! Anyone who treats my daughter like that deserves to be cursed into a million tiny pieces!'

'Don't you know Ronald if all fathers were like that you wouldn't have been able to come within fifty yards of me?'

Dad did an about face and had to concede defeat to mum's rationality.

'Oh yeah, I always forget about that.' He said.

He went to the bathroom, or he was supposed to because I suspected he was gone to talk with Uncle Harry about the unhappy state of affairs concerning his daughter and Malfoy.

'Don't worry yourself about dad. He's just a bit mad that you have a love life at all.' Mum said kindly.

'Tell me something though,' she asked in a different voice. 'Do you like Mal – I mean Scorpius?'

'Mum, even I just call him Malfoy.' I said.

'Do you like him?'

'No!' I said barely before she finished her question. 'I refuse to allow myself to like him!' I said. 'I swear to hate him for all eternity!' I said dramatically.

'Well, the way you two were looking at each other could have been straight out of a romance novel. And you blushed a lot when he gave you that little kiss on the cheek.' She said, matter-of-factly.

After some more 'girl talk and gossip' I managed to remember to ask mum whether I could go to the holiday with Chantal. With some sadness she let me go, lamenting over Chantal's decidedly unromantic prospects and the fact that I would be missing my first Weasley Christmas ever.

After dancing a few more dances, feeling more and more dreary after each successive one I decided to walk back home. Jana wasn't anywhere in sight and I presumed she had gone back to stay the night with Al.

I walked back, feeling like the walking dead. I didn't trust myself to apparate, for the fear of splinching.

By the time I had found my keys, walked up the flight of stairs and slipped the dress off onto a pile on the floor it was already half past midnight.

In my dreams I was dancing in a room covered with red roses, with an enigmatic man in a mask, tantalizingly out of reach.

_A/N: Over 3700 words! 11 pages on Microsoft Word! Anyway, I quite liked this chapter. Hope you do too._


	8. Midnight blue

_A/N: Yay! Different POV, more descriptive. No copyright infringement intended (running out of creative ways to phrase that). I think I'm going to move this to the HP+P&P crossover section next chapter. It belongs there, not in the Emma section, which is where all the Jane Austen stuff is going (I think)._

The scent worked its way through his brain, bewitching the nerves, dilating the synapses. It was peachy and playful, contrasting with the ostentatious scent of artifice he associated with Burke.

He remembered her trilling voice, flamboyantly short hemline and battering eyelashes. She had sulked off at the end of the dance to fish for other richer men, annoyed at his unresponsiveness. He couldn't tell whether she had noticed him staring at _her_ over Burke's shoulder throughout the whole dance, watching her lithe body move with the music.

He looked back at the face before him, shimmering in the muted candlelight. She was like a wonderfully animate marble statue, unrealistically beautiful and with a witty response to every word uttered.

The creamy flesh was beneath his hands. He couldn't look at it but he could feel the suppleness, know that it was devoid of blemishes and imperfections.

'You know how you said that you didn't like to dance? You know, on that night you said that I was barely pretty?' she said, breaking his reverie and causing him to look up into her eyes.

They shone with the fire of passion; alight with the cheeky impertinence that lifted her delicate cheekbones up into a queer smile. Her sculpted brow creased defiantly, daring him to reply to the contrary.

'I do remember.'

He could feel the slippery fabric slide beneath the material of his robes. The midnight blue moved like fluid on her, rivulets forming like water on stone.

'Well, you actually aren't bad at dancing.'

_No wonder, _he thought. _With a sublime partner like you anyway would be able to dance the night away. If they weren't too busy staring at you at least_.

At this thought jealously coursed through his veins. What right did other people have to _touch _her? To handle her like she wasn't delicate, previous china.

'You said that just to get conversation,' he replied, when it was actually himself who was trying to get conversation, to hear her dulcet voice ring clear.

'Oh yeah, I totally like to act all sullen and silent like a hormonal teenager.' She said sarcastically and with a hint of light derision tarring her voice.

He watched her red lips move as she said the words, glossy all over and perfectly ripe, creasing puppets of her fiery and independent mind. They looked temptingly soft, luscious.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss her then and there.

The Devil Temptation nearly took over his mind and body. He could feel the relentless throb of the chest, the weak-headedness caused by Desire staring him straight in the face. But the gleam of fire and defiance in her face told him that she wouldn't have him. The coal black eyelashes obstinately did not batter.

He reined the raging lion of passion, barely holding on to his dignity. She could wait. He could wait. He would have to dance with her for more invaluable but inevitably torturing minutes, in the full knowledge that his inscrutability could not be breached by any wild impulse of the heart. One betrayal of emotion past the stony façade would ruin the relationship between him and her. It would be irrevocably broken.

Drawing his eyes away from her beguiling, ever flashing eyes he had hoped for a retreat from temptation. The pink curve of the ear extended down to a rounded lobe, housing a teardrop set of delicate sapphire earrings. The diamonds encrusting the translucent blue were exquisite, exquisite like her.

The hair shone with the intensity of her mind, bursting forth with energy. The waves fell down her back. He could almost reach them, and occasionally he was rewarded with a small tickling touch of the auburn cascade.

'You… look prettier than usual.'

She did. In that blue piece of sartorial elegance she looked even more the goddess than usual. The low v-cut brought more of her skin out, pearly with vitality. The arms were bare. He wished that she would turn up to work dressed in similarly formal pieces of clothing. She hid her figure in the increasingly bitter weather beneath wooly cardigans that hung loose from her body.

'And do I usually look horrible?'

'No. Just not so mature.'

She never walked into the office with fabric clinging so tightly to her chest, so tightly to every kink and curve on her. Her eyes were never so lined with bold black and nor were her eyelashes coated so heavily. She was never so alluring.

He could feel the small goosebumps forming on her back. She was cold and shivered, the movement intensified in his mind.

'Your hands are cold.' She announced simply.

He held his arms closer around her, feeling her tense apprehensively and then relaxing, the warmth returning to her body. He could count each individual framed eyelash at the distance they were from each other.

She was a wonderful girl, thinking, feeling and acting with a fundamental truth and un-faked passion. Beneath the splendorous beauty was the substance and will, a brain working constantly to provide her with undeniable charisma and intellect.

He could see her mind binding together threads of information together to form a decisive resolution.

'What did you do to Wickham?' she asked, eyes probing for a scrap of information.

Why was it always Wickham corrupting the women in his life? The anger was coursing through his veins again as he remembered the day after his 21st birthday. Wickham had used Lola despicably, like she was a mere toy.

Wickham wouldn't touch Rose. He was determined upon that, if nothing else.

He felt a strange thrill, every time he called her Rose.

He looked up, seeing that resolute fire in her again. He was sure Wickham would never be able to touch her. She had a tenacious mind, potent thorns to prevent the unworthy from getting anywhere near the blossoming red flower.

'Nothing he didn't deserve,' he replied to her, able to satisfy himself that the wily, manipulative, deceptive charmer would never be able to get near her.

'You treat and talk of him like scum, yet his done nothing wrong. How can your conscience be clear?' she said scathingly.

His conscience? He had a hard time clearing his own conscience when he didn't punch Wickham in the face. He had seen Wickham come just a few hours before, with a slick smile to give Al his apologies for not attending the ball with Rose.

Al fell for all the smiles, while he had gritted his teeth as Wickham left with a nod of acknowledgement. Al had looked confused, noting and marveling at the cold diffidence and barely hidden antipathy between his friend and this charming stranger.

He saw Lola's desperate face again, wide-eyed, teary and sobbing.

'Don't talk about Wickham,' he said, hoping to end the subject quickly.

She had so much vitality in her. She was defiant by nature, and he could feel it as she spun in his arms, yet never fully controlled by him. There was always a part of her that would never be his, a fiercely independent streak in her mind that would never be oppressed by someone else.

She was bright. Decisive. Beautiful. Beguiling. So irresistible, tempting, unattainable.

The music reached a dizzying crescendo, and then died away until a lone cello played a melancholy chord. With regret he pulled away from her, sliding his hand across the soft expanse of skin and looking up into her face.

'Thankyou for the dance,' he said, wishing it had lasted much, much longer.

Her supple cheek danced in the light. He bent down for a small kiss on the cheek, savouring its vanilla consistency.

His stride was confident, knowing that she had blushed profusely. She stood there in the dappled candlelight, staring for a while. She was a majestic silhouette of midnight blue.


	9. Ivory

The yew trees lined the path, casting formidable shadows to fall upon us and darken our path. The canopy of foliage thinned, and I could make out the imposing building that stood in front of house. The green grounds sprawled, a contrasting wilderness compared to the sandstone edifice.

Through a large stone archway, we entered the large atrium, our luggage taken away by an oppressed-looking house-elf, shuffling away our bags nearly twice as large as him. Brutal treatment was probably what he was used to every day, and I sympathized with him: we were both stuck in this house at the present, but fortunately my plight was only temporary.

The gaudy silk covered the walls, embroidered with the extensive family tree. Large crystal chandeliers hung from the ebony-paneled ceilings. The rich Persian rugs were beneath our feet, creating the feeling of being encased in thick syrup. Macabre elf heads adorned small alcoves, presumably gruesomely beheaded for some ridiculously trivial error in conduct.

I thought the decorations were rather too garish, for people with more galleons then sense.

I smoothed down the front of my dress, feeling less nervous about myself than for Chantal. Chantal had been the one to insist upon my wearing a dress; instead of the jeans I had planned on wearing. She had told me that this Kareena Burke had strict notions on the clothes worn for a dinner: dresses for the ladies and formal robes for the men. Appropriately archaic for this house, with all the house elves and everything.

Not that I minded wearing the dress, apart from as a symbol of deference to this matriarch. The mint green shift dress was soft and warm, stylish and comfortable.

Chantal patted her hair down anxiously, as we walked upon the corridor that seemed to stretch to eternity.

'Chantal?' an unknown masculine voice asked.

I turned to the direction of the inquiry and saw a small alcove with an armchair in it, and saw a young man, no more than twenty-five smiling back. He had a jovial smile, and short brown wavy hair. He sat with his legs casually apart, and his hands on his chin.

He turned his attention to us once he registered that we had saw him. He sprung up to his feet and using both his hands he shook my hand enthusiastically.

'Nice to meet you Chantal,' he said to me.

'I think you've got the wrong person. I don't remember changing my name to Chantal.' I replied, laughing and pointing to the nervously smiling Chantal.

'Sorry Chantal,' he said to her and then shook her hand with a much more somber attitude. 'You're just as pretty as your friend,' he said, which caused her to blush.

'Richard Burke at your service.'

After his mock bow he took my hand and we walked together, Chantal trailing behind.

'Don't worry, it's just that my grandmother insists upon unmarried young women to have an _escort_ (the sarcasm in his expression was clear in his raised eyebrows) and I don't think my dad would be exactly happy to see his potential wife in the careless hands of his son.' He said, looking back apologetically to Chantal.

'So how are you, pretty one?' he asked.

'I do have a name you know.'

'What?' he said in apparent incredulity. 'You actually have a _name_? Amazing.'

'Say hello to Rose Weasley.' I said teasingly.

'Oh,' he said. 'Scor told me that you're great to work with when you're not talking too much.'

'Which would be all the time,' I replied and caused him to laugh.

'It seems like Scor has busted the myth that he's a great judge of beauty. He didn't mention you being prettier than 99% of the girls I've ever met.'

'I'm insulted,' I sulked. 'How about that other 1%?'

'Vain much?' he asked.

'Sarcasm, Richie, sarcasm.'

'Can I call you Flower than?' he asked hopefully.

'That's the most ridiculous name I've ever heard.' I said indignantly.

'So is Richie. But at least Flower has a symbolic tie with your name. Rose is the name of a flower, you know?'

'Trying to prove you're so smart, hey?'

At this point Richard gave me a punch to shut me up. We were but a few feet away from the dining room, and Kareena Burke was in front of us. She took a cold hard stare at me, scrutinizing me closely.

I would have put her age at around fifty, but prior knowledge of the age of her children and the heavily powdered wrinkles added a decade or two to my estimation.

There was Probity Burke at a seat, looking like his typical smug self with the gelled side parting.

'Miss Lucis, you may sit next to Probity.'

Matriarch Burke's voice rang with cold decisiveness, her words strangely clipped.

I took a seat next to Chantal, feeling the matriarch's disapproving eyes following me. She said nothing though, probably recognizing that it was a bad tactical decision to alienate her guests within the first minute of meeting.

I fingered the shining silver cutlery, set out in order. The white tablecloth was bleached white, a completely inappropriate colour for daily dining. The concave dishes were covered in gold leaf, ostentatiously expensive. I reached for the emerald napkin, wiping my hands clean from the grime that I knew had accumulated throughout the day.

I accidently scratched my hand with my nail, and gave myself a nasty cut. It stung badly, and I swore. I looked up, and saw the majority of the table staring at me, apart from Richard, who was humming quietly to himself.

'Miss Weasley. Please refrain from the vulgar language.'

Strike one: she was already annoyed with me before any food turned up on the table.

I looked down, hoping to convoy to Kareena Burke that I was a demure creature. After she had diverted her attention to her son I looked up.

Six places were laid on the table. I wasn't exactly a mathematical prodigy, but I thought I could count up to five. There was the matriarch, Probity Burke, Richard, Chantal and I. My guess was that this family wouldn't exactly set out another useless place at such a formal affair.

That begged this question: who was the sixth person?

I soon received an answer. Malfoy walked briskly to his seat on the right hand side of his aunt and quickly made his apologies. It was vexing, seeing him get away with being nearly a quarter of an hour late to the table. I was used to it however, it was customary for him to annoy.

'Funny. You have quite an ability to turn up at the most unexpected of times.' I said sardonically.

He acknowledged my presence with a nod, and a quick hello. He didn't quite engage eye contact, which was irritating to me. What was with his distant greeting and conversation?

Once 'Master Malfoy' had sat down a troupe of six house elves came in bearing a small silver platter with a bowl on it. I nearly scoffed, seeing the ridiculous French Renaissance courtier outfit, complete with the frilled collar and powdered wig. Even Chantal looked surprised at the pomp and circumstance associated with the meal.

'I believe you work with my nephew?' Burke asked, not having touched her meal yet.

I put down the spoon, after I had swallowed the bowl of grated egg and caviar. With as much dignity as I could muster after having consumed such a large mouthful of food I replied to Burke's rhetorical question.

'Yes I do. And you can call me Rose.' I replied quickly, reaching for the cool goblet of water to quench the bitter aftertaste of the caviar.

'Scorpius, you are quite right that she is not as exquisite as some people may suggest. But still, the hair and skin could look quite nice with some work, of course. Natural beauty of course always shines beyond anything that is not hereditary.' She said.

As she spook I noted the strong family resemblance between Malfoy and Burke. Both were aloof, with a strongly marked physical presence, and insulting. Why did Malfoy even mention me to his aunt? Did he call me 'barely pretty' to his aunt's face?

'I must thank you for the most useful of counsel,' I said, in a faked voice of immense gratitude.

Richard snorted, Chantal coughed politely into her napkin, Malfoy sat as a passive observer to the happenings of the table and the other Burkes were so thick as to miss the obvious insult.

'If Cassiopeia were here I am sure that she would guide you along in your dress and deportment. But she is absent because of a prior engagement with the Bulstrode's for Christmas. She knows them so well, and Moriah is the heiress of the vast fortune.'

'I have already met with Cassiopeia.' I replied curtly, getting the distinct impression that Kareena Burke's primary motive for inviting me to her house was so she could observe whether her nephew's co-worker was worthy of him.

The majority of the table sat in silence while Kareena Burke talked on all matters _important _such as the arrangement of flowers and proper folding of cloaks. Richard gave me an occasional nudge to prevent me from being completely deaf to Kareena Burke's prattle.

'So, how many siblings do you have _Rose_? Is it three, or four or was it more?' she asked.

'Actually, I only have one brother, Hugo. And sometimes I wish that he wasn't part of the family, because he's so utterly embarrassing.'

Burke put down her knife and momentarily stopped cutting her creamed leek and looked up to me, with a faint look of derisive astonishment marked in her drooping cheeks.

'Ah. A break from tradition I see. Sometimes it is not always bad.' she said, trying to inject some pleasantness into the overwhelming condescension in her voice. 'And how old is your brother?'

'He's turning twenty next month.' I said, rather glad to have an excuse to stop eating what I thought was quite a stringy, glorified vegetable in a puddle of white soup.

'And that would make you…' she pondered aloud.

'Like most women I'm slightly vain and ashamed to reveal how dreadfully old I am.'

'Not much older I would think than twenty.'

'She is twenty-one,' Malfoy said, answering me before I could make a reply to the contrary.

I kicked Malfoy in the shin, mouthing _why did you have to say that?_ to him. He didn't react, continuing to drink from his goblet. Malfoy always wanted to stop me from my fun. I could have told her that I was horribly senile.

A succession of dishes followed, including what looked suspiciously like _foie gras. _A little crustacean with pointy pincers protruding from its head was also served, leading me to push it around on my plate, hoping it looked like I was actually savouring this poor specimen of seafood. Burke extolled the virtues of the creature, the main one being that one of the small things cost over a hundred galleons each. I supposed they were so expensive so that their cultivators could make a living off the few people who would actually want to eat such a grotesque creature.

'You play?' Burke asked to me as a small lemon sorbet was served up.

'Play what?' I replied, looking forward to the prospect of eating something that I actually found delicious.

'Piano of course.' She said matter-of-factly.

'Yes. If learning for a few years from the age of five counts.' I said, hoping to avoid a live performance.

'You will perform for us won't you? Our instrument was wrought from the finest of goblin hands.'

'No.'

Kareena Burke gave me an unpleasant look and then Malfoy looked up quickly at me. He kicked me in the shin, maybe for revenge or as warning to not scorn his aunt. I ignored him, scoffing down the delightful confection. He kicked me again, square on the shin.

'Yes,' I winced partly in pain but mostly in dissatisfaction for complying with the wishes of such a nefariously conceited person.

After the whole of the table had devoured the lemon sorbet we _ascended _to the adjoining living room.

To call it a living room was really an understatement. Instead of the customary dark wood paneling of the house there was a magnificent wall with a large mural-sized fresco, depicting a glorious scene of battle between a wizard and a sword-wielding Muggle. The armchairs were opulent, of an emerald green colour, and there was a large table in the middle with ridiculously flared legs.

Unfortunately I sat next to Malfoy, who sat next to Richard. Chantal sat opposite me, next to Probity, who was listening eagerly to his mother's strictures and servicing her every wish for tea.

The tea was served by Probity, who in his excitement to serve the guests managed to spill tea over Malfoy, Richard, Chantal and I.

Richard and I managed to talk with Malfoy in between us. It turned out that he was on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team of 2024, who were etched in my memory as the team who had beaten the Gryffindor team by ten points for the Quidditch cup. Surprisingly I hadn't realized until then, probably because I only had vague memories of competitive faces rushing madly by on brooms.

We enthusiastically discussed Quidditch, especially Ireland's win over Algeria just because the Irish seeker had managed to swallow the Snitch. We laughed over the different pranks we had made over the years, including one that Richard orchestrated that led to pink confetti falling during our OWL's.

I bested him with my story about the prank where the Weasley clan banded together to set a magnificent set of fireworks off for twenty-four hours straight in the Great Hall and every dormitory and classroom to celebrate the last day of my seventh year. Needless to say we were heavily censured by the teachers, but since it was the last day of the school year we didn't lose any points over, and nor did Al and I return to Hogwarts for a detention. Fred and the others served their detention the next year however.

'You're quieter than usual.' Richard said to Malfoy. 'Say something.'

'I'm just tired,' he replied, with his legs crossed and his head held up with one hand, staring into my face.

After some more and possibly embellished boastings about pranks we committed we made small talk about the cold weather, with occasional additions from Probity and Kareena Burke when they couldn't stand to be left out.

'Miss Weasley, will you entertain us?' she asked, evidently annoyed that she couldn't make much conversation above our loud talking.

'Well, I don't think there'll be much entertainment. More like stumbling on an instrument I haven't played for nearly a decade.' I said, heading towards the recessed corner where the grand piano was housed.

Richard followed me, sitting on one of the two chairs next to the piano. I noted the piano wasn't played regularly when I wiped my hand across the dusty lid. It was a mahogany colour, with a shiny varnish. The ivory keys were more weathered, housing little slivers of black.

While I adjusted the seat to the appropriate position I unconsciously decided what I would play. I hadn't decided before, but as I saw the full moon shining, quartered by the panes of the large window I had.

As I played the opening of the piece I heard the familiar chords ring through my head. I fingered the keys, remembering the magical progressions and harmonies that only genius could write. It hadn't lost the mystical quality of savant that I had first encountered when I was only ten or eleven years old.

I stumbled over the ascending passage, trying hard to remember all the accidentals. Out of the corner of my eye I could just notice Malfoy swaggering up to the piano, taking the other seat next to me.

The last few broken chords were all muddled, as I perceived that Malfoy was staring at me intently, looking utterly enamored. He didn't take his eyes away from my hands, as I pressed the last chords down.

'Why do you stare Malfoy?' I asked.

'That was a very emotionally charged performance. Technique was a bit lacking in some parts though.'

'Should I be thanking you for the praise?' I said sarcastically.

'On the whole, a wonderful playing of Beethoven,' he said as a continuation before my interruption.

'What is it you are talking about?' Kareena Burke asked, yet again proving that she couldn't bear to be excluded from conversation.

'About the joys of Beethoven,' I said lyrically.

'And who is this Beethoven?' she asked.

'A famous composer,' I replied, knowing that she would be ignorant of him because Beethoven was a Muggle.

'I have not heard of him.'

'Really? I thought he was well-known, even among those who are not musical.' I said, hoping to embarrass her.

'He was _Muggle_ evidently,' she said with disdain.

'Yes. But genius isn't exclusive to those blessed with the power of magic, is it?' I replied.

Kareena Burke made no answer, not daring to contradict me.

'So Rose, how is Scor as a colleague? Irritating? Efficient? Annoyingly attractive?' Richard said teasingly.

'You really want to know?' I said, looking at Malfoy before returning my gaze to Richard. 'In two words: socially retarded. But that's a bit mean I guess.'

'Really? But he's like that with all strangers, stuck in a little shell, never breaking out.'

'Is he any better usually?'

'Sometimes.' He replied.

'He's always unsmiling, distant, staring at absolutely everyone and probably laughing at their stupidity!' I exclaimed, forgetting that Malfoy was there.

'I find it hard to talk absolute rubbish,' Malfoy replied. 'And I don't stare at everyone.'

'Ah, but you stare at Rose!' Richard said.

Malfoy made no reply and instead made a request for me to play a Chopin Nocturne. I played the only one I knew, in C# minor like the Moonlight Sonata. It made it much easier to place my fingers over the right keys.

After a few more song requests from Malfoy I had exhausted my classical repertoire. Richard and I then played an improvised duet on some famous contemporary tunes.

Chantal hadn't talked to me all evening, and only talked to Probity and Kareena Burke occasionally. I caught her looking at Malfoy and then me, and then giving me an uncharacteristically exaggerated wink.

We were all tired by then, whether through nature or our increasingly out of tune and rowdy duets. Matriarch Burke, Richard and Malfoy ascended one staircase, and the remaining three of us went up in the opposing direction.

'You do know that that golden candelabrum cost above _three thousand_ galleons! And that it is probably worth ten times that amount!' Probity exclaimed with a stutter, wildly gesturing at the artefact.

'And that the staircase we just walked on took _three years_ for a team of a hundred goblins to build!' he said, eliciting a look of concern and interest in Chantal.

After Probity Burke proved that he was a walking encyclopedia concerning the immense material value of the place we had arrived to three rooms next to each other.

I took the one nearest the end that was facing the roving cliffs, wild shrubbery and strewn rocks. I tried to close the curtains. I failed. They didn't close completely, leaving a small gap in which I could see a slit of silver moonlight peek through.

_A/N: Grated egg and caviar? I got that seemingly bizarre dish idea from Casino Royale (the book). And the song that Rose played first was Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven and the Nocturne was Chopin's Nocturne no. 20 (posthumous) in C# minor. I'm stuck on one point: whether the 'estate' should be called Rosings: maybe some variation._


	10. Chocolate cookies and snow

I had woken up at what I thought was an appropriate time. I was always a heavy sleeper when I was tired enough. The little slit in between the curtains had let in the meek sunlight of the winter, but I didn't stir. Chantal had came dressed to my bed, shaking me and shouting. I did wake up, though disorientated. I was annoyed to have to wake up when I was still in need of sleep, but nonetheless proceeded to start to get my clothes for the new day.

'Chantal, you can go down first and tell them that I need to get changed,' I said, running a comb through my hair.

'Slight problem Rose. I came to wake you up a couple of times, and you didn't get up. We already had breakfast, and I think Kareena Burke was slightly angry that you didn't turn up.'

'Oh well,' I replied casually. 'The company's too frigid anyway. The Burkes plus Malfoy are way too much together. I think it would be impossible to be in a place where the arrogance and self-righteousness is more concentrated.'

Chantal made a slight frown. 'I think that Richard's nice though.'

'Oh yeah, he's funny. His fictional stories about pranks are absolutely hilarious.'

Chantal frowned again. 'I thought they were real. Richard's one of the most funny people I've met, but I don't think he makes things up just to boast to other people.'

'Anyway, how was breakfast?'

'It was great!' she exclaimed excitedly. 'They have great pancakes with maple syrup and ice cream. But I didn't eat my way through the whole pile. Probity would think I was a pig.'

'How's Probity? Getting used to him?' I asked.

'Rose, stop it with that smug and superior tone!' she said indignantly. 'He's not all bad.'

'And what's good about him?' I asked, pressing the point home.

'Errrrrr…'

'His money?'

'Yes,' she said, resigned to agree with me.

'Come on Chantal,' I said, deciding to change the subject partly because I was hungry and partly because it was awkward. 'Let's go to their kitchen or something.'

She looked a bit weary and hesitant, but after I got changed and brushed my teeth I went back to Chantal's room.

We sneaked down the dusty stairs, hoping to avoid the seemingly omniscient eye of Kareena Burke.

The rooms looked more and more plain as we got closer to the basement. By then the dark wood paneling was thick with dust. There was a plain black door, slightly ajar. It was evidently the kitchen: the smell of food was wafting from it.

I walked forward and knocked on the door. An enthusiastic elf came bouncing up to me.

'Violet at your service,' she said. 'But why are you here?' she asked, puzzled.

'Hello Violet. I missed breakfast and I am in urgent need of food.' I said directly. 'Is there any toast or something left?'

'Of course!' Violet said, bustling about and piling food from several huge stacks of leftovers onto a plate. 'Here,' she said, handing me a plate, a napkin and some cutlery. Seeing my trouble in carrying everything Violet pushed a table and chair near me and beckoned for me to sit down.

I sat down, tucking in to the rich, fatty rashers of bacon. I had finished, and spotted a Muggle oven to the side of the kitchen. I suddenly had an idea that involved some chocolate, flour and hopefully some innocent, explosion-free fun.

'Hey Chantal! Violet! Let's bake some triple choc cookies. I've memorized the recipe.' I said.

Chantal looked weirdly at me but said nothing. I think she was used to my sometimes-deranged antics. Violet however decided it was a great idea, and started questioning me eagerly about how much flour, milk, and eggs and chocolate I needed. Through my scrambled egg I replied.

When I had finished the food and had had my glass of orange juice refilled many times Violet, Chantal and I started to make the biscuit mix. Violet helped melt the dark chocolate for us, and Chantal and I took turns to mix the batter until it had no lumps.

We duly spooned the biscuit mix into squashed balls and we waited for them to bake. Violet suggested that we go back to our rooms to wait, but we decided to stay downstairs anyway. Then Chantal suggested that we use some canny magic to speed things up, but I told her to leave it. There wasn't much to do anyway.

We hear loud footfalls and Chantal and I immediately wiped some flour off my jeans. It was Richard, peeking his head in. Seeing us he laughed and walked in.

He was wearing a white sweater and a pair of jeans. He looked more casual than last night, and more inadvertently handsome.

'Chantal, Rose. What are you doing here? Should I go and tell grandma Burke or not?' he said cheekily.

'We were trying to explode the house with some flour.' I replied.

'Actually, we were just baking some cookies.' Chantal said hurriedly. 'Is that okay with you?'

'Of course. I usually come down here for some random snacks.'

'Do you stay at your grandmother's house all the time and live off her grace? Or do you work?' I asked.

'No. I usually work in Edinburgh,' he said.

'Isn't that a bit far for you?' I said mockingly.

'Anything's far for you apparently,' he replied.

An alarm rung to indicate that our batch of cookies was done.

'Would you like some cookies?' Chantal said. 'You have to wait for it to cool though,' she said, when she saw his hands dart for the tray of cookies that she had just taken out from the oven.

After us three talked a bit more about work and life we divvied up the cookies. I asked for a jar to hold some leftover cookies, and it was duly provided.

After our little escapade to the kitchens I headed back to our rooms.

***

It was Christmas morning. In typical British fashion it was snowing heavily. It was to be a White Christmas then.

I yawned, throwing the curtains open. I had learnt my lesson. It was sacrilege to be late for a meal, let alone miss it completely. The evening after I made the cookies I was rewarded with more of Kareena's annoyingly condescending questions.

'_Did you have a governess?'_

'_A what?'_

'_A governess, Miss Weasley.'_

'_And why would I have a governess? Don't they just exist in 19__th__ century fiction?'_

'_Then where did you have your early education?'_

'_I went to the local Muggle school.'_

'_A Muggle school?'_

'_Yes.'_

And not only did she insult my education by my independence.

'_When do you intend to get married?'_

'_Never.'_

'_Never? But you have to live off something.'_

'_I intend to work my way through life.'_

'_Not to worry. Young women like you will settle down soon enough once you realise you won't go as far as expected.'_

'_I'd hate to attach myself to someone and lose my identity.'_

'_The role of women is to marry and bear children.'_

'_And how about the men?'_

'_A different set of rules apply to them, Miss Weasley.'_

This kind of never ceasing, insulting yapping continued on and on in the few days we had been there. I wish it was only a formal dinner we had, but a formal breakfast and lunch were also to be had. It was bad, but I guess having so many meals to dress for would waste more of her time and therefore get her out of the way for the longest time possible.

Still once you had sat down at a table with Kareena Burke there was no escape from her.

I dressed myself in a set of jeans and a light sweater. I found that if you arrived early enough she wouldn't be able to look at what you wore that thoroughly, and hence wouldn't spit fire at you for dressing like you came 'off the Muggle streets'.

As I ran down the stairs I felt cold, but I knew I could easily get a house-elf to light a fire.

I walked into the dining room, expecting it to be empty. Malfoy was there, morosely reading a book in one of the armchairs to the side of the maintable.

'Hi Malfoy. What are you reading?' I asked.

'I'm reading _A Christmas Carol_,' he replied, not looking up.

I peered over his shoulder, seeing the childish illustrations that occupied half of each page.

'And you're even the reading the version with the pictures in it. Was the language too hard for you to understand?'

He didn't reply to my insult and instead told me that it was a tradition for him to wake up early on Christmas morning and read the book to his sister.

'Too bad your sister isn't here,' I replied.

'It is. She would have liked to meet you.'

'And why would that be?'

'I might have mentioned you once or twice in my letters,' he mumbled, now trying thoroughly to ignore me.

I silently huffed, feeling thoroughly rejected by Malfoy, who was still peeling rapidly through his book. An hour or so passed, and the room gradually filled with more light.

The tension in the room was hard to encapsulate in words. A kind of mutual distrust floated above, a grating friction that was intensified every time we talked with each other. There was something just so confusing, so puzzling about him and his furtive glances at me. I didn't understand him, almost hated him and yet he managed to resonate so deeply in me, to disturb my inner monologue.

Malfoy looked at his watch, and then looked up at me to see me staring at him. He walked up to me.

'It should be time for breakfast in five or so minutes.'

'You know this household runs like clockwork. There are no approximations. Breakfast starts at exactly 8:27am,' I said, trying to imitate the pompous manner of a quasi-wealthy master/mistress.

He took a glance up and down me.

'You look cold. It's the middle of winter. Should I get you a jacket?' he said, sounding rather hesitant and strained.

'I'm fine really,' I said back.

Breakfast passed as the usual affair with nothing special. The lunch was where we had the rich, warming foods.

Richard and I decided that it was warm enough to go out and have a snowball fight. Chantal decided it was too cold, and would rather stay inside with Probity. I suspected that Kareena Buke's poisonous stares threatening her with immediate expulsion if she had a snowball fight also contributed to her decision. Malfoy said he would join us, but after he got changed into warmer clothes.

Richard pulled me outside into the harsh wind.

The cliffs were covered in pure white snow, gleaming. The hills roamed on forever in their blinding brightness. There was a particularly sheer cliff-face. I took a seat there, my feet dangling precariously off the side. I could look down and see the frozen lake, looking strong but actually brittle. Richard took the seat next to me.

'Hey Rose?'

'What?' I said.

'Have you noticed Scor lately? He's been so quiet and distracted and so reflective! Something's up with him. I asked him to play some Quidditch with me and he said no. I've seen him when I'm flying on my broom. He's holed up in his giant suite, reading and writing all day. I'm worried for him.'

'Maybe he's just becoming more artistic. He feels the need to let out his incredible anger on paper. He needs a creative vent,' I said sarcastically. 'He needs a prank to cheer him up.'

'Hey, that's not a half bad idea!' Richard shouted excitedly, his face lighting up with mischief.

'Maybe we could throw snowballs at him. That would be fun.'

'Nah, we can already do that in the snowball fight. What I'm thinking of is much more high-tech. Way, way more high-tech.'

Richard started to explain his prank.

'Well, using your obviously phenomenal knowledge of charms –

'Hey! I barely scraped an Outstanding!' I shouted, not wanting to be remembered as some uber-nerd freak.

'Whatever. We could conjure a fake version of us two doing something really annoying.'

I suddenly had this brilliant brainwave, which I knew would probably manage to mildly annoy Malfoy.

'How about we have this conjured image of us two where we're kissing or something? It'll annoy him _so much_.'

'Yeah! Let's get it ready. He'll be out soon, kitted up in extra heavy Arctic thermals.'

We set to work, Richard and I hiding behind a snow-covered bush. As soon as we saw Malfoy we would plant our fake scene as a couple smack-bang in the middle of the wind-swept, snow-covered grounds.

Malfoy was actually quite tastefully dressed, in nothing like those horrid baggy thermals that I hated. He was wearing a navy blue sweater, with a pair of faded jeans.

'Oh my God,' I said to Richard. 'He's not wearing a suit. I thought he lived in one.'

'He does take it off,' he said, with a wicked look on his face.

I looked horrified, and then Richard quickly said something about taking showers.

Richard and I, after being a bit caught up in our conversation, quickly conjured up our false figures into Malfoy's line of sight.

As we watched our clones 'share the love' I couldn't help bursting into laughter after realising how ridiculous Richard and I would be in a relationship. My laughter was infectious as Richard started to bob up and down with laughter.

To say that Malfoy was angry would be an understatement. He started to turn red, and ran up to the clones.

Richard and I burst into a new strain of melodious silent laughter. The only thing that was more ridiculous than Richard and I kissing would be Malfoy being angry with us two together.

He ran up to the figures and stood there for a moment, transfixed in his own horror and shock. He must have been really disconcerted to not notice the unrealistically pearlescent quality of our bodies, and our apparent oblivion to his presence.

The colour rushed back into his face and then he took a swing at the Richard clone, which was so brittle that the first contact with any remote force dissolved it into a small pile of dust.

The only thing that was more ridiculous than the idea of Richard and I in a relationship was the thought that Malfoy would try and punch Richard so hard in the face.

At that point Richard actually started to smack his hands on his thigh because of the hilarity of the scene before him. Malfoy saw Richard, and most probably also heard his wild guffaws of laughter.

'So Scor,' Richard said playfully when Malfoy approached him. 'Did you like our little trick?'

Malfoy said nothing, and I could tell from his creased brow and the fuming face that something was amiss.

Richard tried to deftly sidestep the blame.

'But it was Rose's idea!' he shouted exasperatedly.

I came out from behind my bushy cover and faced Malfoy with some sort of humility.

'I'm sorry,' I said simply. 'You don't seem as happy as we anticipated.'

As Malfoy turned around to me I could see some tumultuous event had just occurred for him. His smoldering eyes softened. The locked jaw slackened.

'It's fine,' he said, not sounding happy with me at all.

'I think you need a cookie,' I said, trying to cheer him up.

'No thanks,' he said, the usual stiffness now returning to his voice.

'So,' Richard said, clapping his hands together. 'Shall we have guys against girls? It's up to you Rose to defend the honour of women in snowball fights.'

'No. That's unfair! Two against one!'

'Solo then?'

'I'm up for it.'

'Sounds fine,' Malfoy said, not sounding really enthusiastic.

'Ready, set,' Richard shouted, preparing to run.

'GO!' I shouted.

I slapped my feet onto the ground wildly, feeling the snow push against me in every step I took. We had all gone in different directions.

A tree was nearby. Though it was leafless, and hence more exposed it was better than standing in the middle of the place with no camouflage at all.

I clambered up the tree, holding on for dear life in some places. There was a comfortable branch about eight feet off the ground. I sat, hoping I wasn't too heavy for it.

In accordance with the grand rules of snowball fights (the Rose Weasley Way as I called it) we had to wait a minute before the first missiles were launched. Richard would send red sparks to indicate the start.

After a few more seating re-arrangements on my tree I felt reasonably comfortable (what comfort do you expect from a threadbare tree?) and reasonably stable. The red sparks shot from below on my right hand side, and I took some pitiful snow that lay on a large branch nearby. I looked down, feeling perfectly at ease despite the height.

I smashed the snow into a ball, aiming to give it the highest density possible. I threw, wildly hoping that it would hit Richard. I knew that he would have moved: the role as the spark-flyer was bound to give your opponents a strategic head start in knowing your location.

My tactic was to hide for the first part of the game, let them lose interest in trying to hit me, track the opponents, and then launch a vigorous assault upon them without being detected.

A furious war of white was being waged on the ground below me.

The mere mental image of Malfoy being hit with a snowball right in the face was hilarious. It was also slightly oxymoronic, to imagine someone like him engaging in a childish past-time whilst simultaneously trying to keep himself as dry as possible.

Malfoy and Richard were thoroughly engaged in their snowball fight. Taking a precautionary glance in the immediate area I saw no hard rocks or anything to hurt me on my landing. I took a deep breath, preparing my body for the fall.

I pushed myself off from the branch, feeling the wind tear past and whistle in my ears. It was cold, yet rejuvenating to feel the relentless gusts batter you, to feel the omniscient gravity pull you towards _terra firma_.

A ball of ice hit me. Again. Again. And then again. And again. The force of the blows knocked me so badly that I fell facedown into the waiting arms of the powdery snow.

_A/N: Some attempt at a cliffhanger. Think it was an epic failure though. Oh well, that wasn't the point of the chapter._


	11. Aftermath

_A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or Jane Austen and its associated characters, plot lines etc._

I hit the floor with a dull thud, and felt my ankle twist painfully. I could feel throbbing where the projectiles made contact with my skin, and some bruises would probably blossom there tomorrow morning.

'Richard! Malfoy!' I hollered, whilst trying to sit up and wincing in the subsequent pain.

After propping myself into a sitting position I called out to them again. Hopefully they would come or I'd have to resort to dragging myself back to the house.

I could vaguely make out two figures, specks that grew large and larger as they came closer.

'Richard!' I shouted as soon as he was ten yards away from me. 'What the bloody hell hit me?'

Richard looked concerned, but judging from his puzzled expression he was probably none the wiser about who the culprit was.

'What happened?' Richard asked.

Malfoy was standing further away from Richard and I, with his arms folded and eyes set in our general direction.

'Well, I was on a tall branch of this tree –

I motioned vaguely to a high branch, feeling that my torso wasn't capable of turning that far without some more pain stabbing my brain.

'Wasn't that a bit dangerous?' he questioned.

'I've done stupider things,' I replied. 'Anyway, I was on the branch, and I was jumping down when I felt these super-dense and super-fast snowballs hit me. They'll make a real neat line of welts.'

'It wasn't me Rose, honest to God,' Richard said.

I believed him: he sounded genuinely anxious.

'It was me,' Malfoy said with his head slightly bowed but otherwise with absolutely no emotion at all.

'Malfoy?' I said angrily. 'Did you have to aim straight at me?'

'I saw a person out of the corner of my eye and I just set a whole stream of snowballs at it,' he said, in what I thought was a pretty lame defense.

'I know you can use magic in a snowball fight, but isn't it just a bit unsporting to methodically aim twenty or more snowballs at one person? And I did I mention that the balls had a density approaching that of gold? And that they were quaffle-sized?' I shouted indignantly, my little instances of Malfoy irritating and angering me now increasing my loathing exponentially.

Malfoy stood there erect, like a cold-hearted villain who felt nothing after murdering a whole orphanage.

'We should stop our little game and get Rose back in before she gets hypothermia,' Richard said. 'I can take her in and you can get changed.'

When Richard said that Malfoy perked up a bit, his arms unfolding and his face responsive.

'No. It's my fault and I'll take her in.'

Malfoy walked up to me as grave as an undertaker and propped me up on himself.

'Aren't you going to fix my ankle first?'

'It'll be easier inside,' he replied.

I looked hopefully at Richard, hoping he would walk in with us two. He gave a wink and apparated away, abandoning me with Malfoy.

'I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to aim ten million snowballs at me in the future.'

'It was a snowball fight, Weasley. That was what was meant to happen,' he replied.

'Still!' I said, hopelessly trying to prop up my argument. 'Maybe in the future you might want to stop physically assaulting me!'

Malfoy's face lost some colour at what I said.

We continued walking, and I could feel that I was relying almost entirely on Malfoy to stay standing up. It was infuriating to think that I needed his assistance, to think that I wasn't capable by myself. He was always so quiet, and so self-satisfied; as though he knew something we didn't beneath his impassive exterior.

Onwards we went, and after walking some more I felt more confident that I would able to walk the short distance to the house.

'Thanks Malfoy,' I said as he tried to restrain me from breaking free of his grip. 'I think I'll be fine the rest of the way.'

As I took the first few steps I knew it was a mistake. I nearly tripped over a stray rock. It was Malfoy who came rushing up behind me, hurrying so quickly to prevent me falling that I knew he had been anticipating it.

'See. You do need my help after all,' he whispered.

His breath tingled the skin along my jaw. My stomach was churning at the close contact between us and at the tight grip of the arm that he had wound around my torso to hold me up. I was more keenly aware of the way that my arm was around his neck, and shivered at the thought of some of my closer friends seeing me in this position. The illusion that Richard and I had set up was absolutely false, but this was real.

'What would Burke say if she saw us like this now? You know, with the arms thrown around each other?' I said, hoping that I sounded more humorous than nervous.

He made no reply, and we soon made it to an unused sitting room off the side of the foyer. Malfoy quickly laid me down onto a sofa, carrying me as though I was a feather. When he let go of me, I felt some instinctive part of me crave the warmth of his embrace and the protection that it provided. I ignored it however: what kind of unfeeling person would have no reaction when an attractive peer had basically carried them for the better part of fifteen minutes?

It seemed Malfoy was unaffected though as he set to work muttering under his breath and swishing his wand about. It was quite apparent that he was exceptionally talented at not only healing charms but at wand-work in general.

He had taken a seat next to where I laid, and was looking fairly hesitant and apprehensive.

'The welts on your stomach: would you mind if I helped heal them?' he asked, his hands hovering above my torso.

'No actually, I'd be perfectly happy if you did anything you wanted to it. Just not adding tentacles or something,' I replied.

'I'm afraid,' he said, 'that I might have to lift your sweater up to assess the severity of damage. Do you mind?'

'Just get on with it,' I said with clenched teeth, not exactly delighted on having Malfoy look at my bare stomach. It wasn't any worse than on the beach wearing a bikini.

His hands worked dexterously, and carefully lifted up part of my sweater to reveal some angry red welts. He pressed down firmly on one of the welts, and I squirmed, not knowing whether it was because of the lingering touch of his cold finger or the pain that the contact afforded.

'I'm ticklish,' I said sheepishly.

After some more charms he had finished 'healing' me and I sprung up to my feet, ready to run out of the door.

Malfoy walked briskly to intercept me.

'What Malfoy?' I asked as he walked in front of me.

'I don't think you should wear yourself out. Would you like to go and have some… food?'

I looked at Malfoy skeptically, but agreed to go down for some food.

As we walked along, with Malfoy keeping a utilitarian pace and habitually tucking loose strands of hair back behind his ears. We kept quiet most of the way, with him only asking me a few questions concerning my ankle.

We had descended down the musty staircase that led to the kitchens but instead of turning into the kitchen we turned into a deserted room opposite it. Well, when I said _we turned_ what I really meant was Malfoy guiding me gently by the wrist into the room.

'And why are we in here?' I asked.

'More privacy,' he replied quickly.

'More privacy from what? The house-elves who will secretly sell your photographs to the press?'

Malfoy actually looked quite melancholy of late, and stuck in his own mind and thoughts more than usual. His eyes were more bloodshot, his skin taking on a slightly paler hue.

'Would you like me to get you something from the kitchen?' he asked politely.

'Not really. I'd like to go by myself, if that's fine by you.'

'It'd be much easier for me to go. Stay here.'

He swept out of the room without so much as asking me what I thought about it. What was with the copious use of imperatives by him? Treating us like his chess pieces, moving to ensure his pleasure.

I sat myself down on one of the spindly chairs, half wishing to leave the room instantly.

He came back in, his arms bare.

'Why didn't you get the food? You were long enough.'

'I thought it would be easier to let the house-elves bring the food here.'

'Whatever.'

After some more tapping of the feet some other house-elf came bearing a tray of varied goodies. As soon as the tray was laid onto the small circular table I picked up one and tried it.

It was like edible art. It _was _edible art, with the fluffy yellow pastry crumbling into a sweet powder and the caramel melting inside. I had demolished it in two bites, and looked up to see Malfoy staring at me. He hadn't started eating it at all.

'It was nice!' I said.

Malfoy looked rather taken aback, and took one for himself.

'Does it have cinnamon?' I asked. 'Does that brown stick taste like cinnamon?'

He took another bite out of the pastry languidly. 'Why?'

'I don't think it's a good idea for me to have that. Actually it would be a good thing for you: my airways would swell up so bad that I might suffer from asphyxiation. And then you'd finally get rid of me as a colleague and then finally get _Cassiopeia Burke_.'

I was feeling like a rant. Stupid Malfoy throwing his snowballs around and still looking about with such furtive glances.

He made no reply to my cheeky comment, and instead warned me to not eat any pastries with sticks of cinnamon. Which was about half the platter.

'Great Malfoy. That basically leaves the chocolate mudcake,' I said, still quite aggravated that he ignored my comment. 'Not that I mind of course.'

We managed to eat our way through nearly the whole platter of delights, but failed to stimulate any interesting talk. Malfoy let out an indiscrete suggestion to try and start a civilized conversation.

'So. How's life?' I questioned in a formal way, sounding completely oblivious to our previous conversation.

'Fine,' he replied.

'If you suggested a conversation you should try to continue it in polysyllabic words.'

He looked thoughtful and then said, 'what do you think of marriage?'

'Marriage? Why are we talking about that?'

'You were the one asking to continue the conversation.'

'And you were the one who asked to start it in the first place!'

'It is a circular argument. Which came first: the phoenix or the flame?'

'And which came first: the Malfoy or his persistent need to assert his superiority in all matters academic?'

'I can tell that you're not much of a philosopher.'

'I can tell you're not much of a social person.'

'As you may have already figured out.'

'I am perceptive you know. I have _eyes_. And _ears_. And a killer sense of instinct.'

'Would you like to continue talking about philosophy? Or the sanctity of marriage? Or your constant need to be impertinent?'

'You could probably already guess what I think. I don't think much of the institution of marriage.'

'Even if recently you've met some appropriate candidates lately?' he asked anxiously.

'_Appropriate candidates_?' I replied. 'Is this some kind of sick, Muggle reality television show where a million girls compete for the vain hand of one stupid, fat bachelor? We're totally out of the 19th century already!'

'Any nice guys lately?' he said, sounding rather odd and strained.

'Better. But even after your re-phrase you sound ridiculously out of place and out of time.'

'So have you?' he said, pressing the subject again.

Was it really necessary for him to question me about all my personal life? After all, we only had a professional association.

'One or two have been reasonably nice.' I answered. 'But most aren't my type.'

'What do you mean?' he asked earnestly, while leaning forward onto the edge of his chair.

'Nothing really.'

Continuation of sentiment: was it really necessary for him to question me about all my personal life and then take it upon himself to give me a moral lecture about it?

'Our conversation will lapse into silence if you don't continue.'

'Well, people like your cousin Richard are impossibly brash and politically incorrect but are absolute _fun _to be with. Unlike some other people.'

'I see,' he said thoughtfully. 'You like the bright and the bold, the beautiful and the brilliant. If it's not ostentatious enough, you'll pay no attention to it.'

'I never said that I ignore those who are introverted. You make it sound as though I judge everyone on fleeting first impressions. It's like saying that Headmaster Flitwick is mentally stunted because of his physicality. Ridiculous.'

'Ridiculous it is,' Malfoy repeated. 'There are hypocrites aplenty though.'

'Yes there are, and I suspect I know one in this very house.'

Before he could interrupt I continued on with my point, using an example that was indelibly printed on my mind as an insult.

'Let me set the scene for you: this grumpy git meets this impossibly cheery girl. Grumpy git complains to a friend and calls the girl impossibly ugly, but in more restrained terms. Friend wants to tell grumpy git to get a life, but is afraid to wound this git's inflated ego by telling him to stop coveting this girl's totally reasoned optimism in life.'

'I never knew you were so good at making up stories on the spot.'

'You know perfectly well my story was all truth.'

'_Subjective_ truth.'

'And what, are you God? Do you hold the _objective_ truth because you happen to specialize in omniscience?'

'I never knew you were religious.'

'But I know what you want is omnipotence. You want to be able to control everyone and bend them to their will.'

'For some things I wish very much to forcibly convince someone of a blatantly obvious truth they chose to deny.'

'Well, you are a Malfoy.'

'And does that signify anything?'

His face darkened, and his lips were slightly puckered in expectation of my reply.

'That you're all a bunch of egotists, liars and murderers? You don't have to tell me that: it's _blatantly obvious_,' I muttered darkly under my breath.

Malfoy acted as though he didn't hear me, but I could see that he was staring at my face intently for all the conversation and would not have failed in deciphering what I said.

Eventually we did lapse into a silence, made slightly more comfortable by the presence of the (diminishing) platter of peace-making pastries.

While I was eating a cream bun I felt a sharp sting on my stomach, followed by several more.

'Holy crap!' I shouted before I could help myself.

Malfoy stood to his feet, and I wondered for a moment whether he was religious and about to rebuke me for my blasphemous remark. But it turned out that he ran up towards me, and held my wrist tightly.

I felt intimidated by him, and especially by the raw strength of his grip on my wrist. His face had an unusually expressive animal quality to it, tempered only by the small look of worry betrayed in the biting of his lip.

I never knew he could display so much emotion.

'What the hell are you doing Malfoy?' I questioned angrily. 'Stop manhandling me!'

My voice trembled as I felt him let go of my wrist. I had backed into a corner. One of the first things I had learnt in life was to not be cornered. It would always result in disembowelment from a toy broomstick. Or something similarly painful and degrading.

'Lift up your sweater,' he said brusquely. 'I need to check whether you're okay.'

'You _need_ to?' I replied irately. 'You always _need_ to do something.'

'I'm sorr –

'You're _what_?' I said spitefully. 'You're not sorry and I'm _not_ lifting up my shirt for you again. I'll go _now_, if you don't mind.'

Malfoy held me in place with his arms on my shoulders while I was blabbering lividly, and tried to placate me with a soothing voice and gentle words.

'I am perfectly capable of performing spells myself! I only agreed to let you heal me to ease your own conscience!' I shouted to his pale, worried face.

With tears of frustration, and a parched, hoarse throat I pushed myself away from him. I thundered up the stairs, making sure to stamp extra hard on that marble staircase.


	12. The chapter of epistles

I was tapping my foot on the floor in boredom. It was one of the days where the dark weather mirrored the drudgery of my emotions.

After yesterday's fiasco, which I had already dubbed _the Malfoy Fiasco of '27_, I was sufficiently bored. I would probably have to call that incident _the Malfoy Fiasco of '27 part a)_, considering the fact that Malfoy and I would inevitably clash over more things in the few days before the new year.

Yesterday I had run back up to my bedroom to discover that a number of deep cuts had formed on my torso where Malfoy had healed my previous injuries. I was even angrier than before: what kind of dodgy healing skills did he have?

Malfoy had been outwardly physical again in trying to force me to do something. I remembered another incident in which he stood in front of a door to prevent me from getting out. This time it was more forceful, with him holding me into a corner of a room.

Crazy really. Controlling idiot.

It started to drizzle. The water started dripping down onto the bleak grey of the sky, rocks and trees. The black birds soared in arrow-shaped packs, describing graceful arcs in the sky.

As the birds performed their beautiful synchronized routine an elegant owl flew straight through their stage.

Happy day. It was _Parry Otter _our family owl. Someone was trying to send a letter to me.

I opened the window, allowing the wet bird to shake the water off its wings. I hurriedly grabbed the letter, and saw the neat print of mum's writing on the front. I tore it open, and marveled at the uniformity of the folding.

_Rose. How was your Christmas? I've sent your present to your apartment. Anyway, it seems that the whole family is leaving London. Hugo went to Egypt and Dom to France and now Al is gone to Germany to do some work (he's not even staying for the new year) about the German Ministry of Magic's decision to change their currency to the Galleon. He'll be back in the summer. He brought a girl named Jana to Christmas dinner. I thought I saw her at the ball a week or so ago. Do you know her? They were as thick of thieves really, sitting in the best chairs by the fire and talking all night. _

_Have fun with Chantal. Be safe. _

Unlike some other friend's parents my relationship with her was fairly equal on both sides. She wrote her letters and talked to me in such a way that wasn't condescending or patronizing. She was like a friend, but less immature. Not as likely to encourage me to play pranks on other people.

I put down the letter. Jana had better be talking or writing to Al. Al would miss her heaps. Judging from mum's letter Al was already in love with Jana, and I had no doubt that she was in love with him based on her continual praise of Al.

There was a knock on my door and Chantal walked in.

'Rose?' she started.

'Yes,' I said as I stuffed the letter back into the envelope.

I sat myself onto the edge of the bed, and Chantal sat next to me.

'You won't punch me will you? Or physically harm me in anyway?' she said anxiously.

'What made you think that I would Chantal?'

'I think he's in love with you.'

'Who? Richard?' I exclaimed. 'That is ridiculous.'

'No. I think it's Malfoy.'

'Is there some other Malfoy I don't know about. You don't mean Scorpius Malfoy? Surely not?'

Malfoy in love with me? It wasn't possible, with his hairy heart and determined superiority over everyone.

'I do. He stares at you all the time with love-struck eyes.'

_Love-struck eyes_? _Love-struck?_

'You must be crazy.'

'Well, what I meant was that he is utterly distracted from everything else when you're in the room. He'd never met me before on that first night at dinner, but he didn't ask about who I was until several days later! He was too busy staring jealously at you and Richard.'

'He's usually too busy staring disapprovingly at me to say anything of remote interest to anyone else. He has to _always_ disagree on everything and tell me off! He has to always try and force me to do something I don't want to!'

'The Malfoy family is one of the richest families in England.'

'One of the richest _magical_ families, Chantal.'

'He's _infatuated_! I swear you would break his heart if you told him how much you hated him.'

'If he has a heart,' I scoffed.

'You are determined to hate him, aren't you?' she said with a sigh.

'Yes,' I said definitely.

We burst out laughing at that point, with me demonstrating yet again that I was obstinate up to the point of stupidity. Chantal hadn't lost her sense of humour despite her newly found enthusiasm for rich, stupid men.

Chantal then went back to her room to have a shower, and faced with the prospect of more boredom in my room I went down (slightly) early to the dining room _again_.

This time _Probity _Burke was waiting downstairs. He looked farcical with his slicked side parting and his mouth puckered stupidly to whistle a classical tune while dancing with himself.

'Good evening,' I said coldly.

I must have sounded like Kareena Burke because he turned around instantly and bowed deeply before realizing that I was someone completely different.

'Good evening Wiss Measl –

'I think you meant _Miss Weasley_.'

Ha. Spoonerisms. Probity Burke just proved that he possessed one of the stereotypical qualities of an utterly absurd man.

'Yes,' he replied, looking very flustered.

He quickly regained his dignity however and then started pacing up and down the room with all the commanding power of his sixty-two inches. He walked like a soldier in a formal military parade: looking ridiculous and being utterly useless in any form of combat. He then stared at my shoes, and then gradually looked up to my face with such an expression of disgust that I wondered whether I had accidently given myself a mohawk.

'You are wearing jeans. And sneakers,' he said in disbelief.

'Yes I am. I only bought one dress, and it had to dry after being washed.'

It was a lie actually. My one dress wasn't being washed and it was in the trunk lying unused since the first night. So it wasn't a complete lie.

And then I realized that if my dress was being washed I could have used a drying spell to dry it instantly. Anyone with half a brain wouldn't accept my excuse as plausible and therefore Probity had less than half a brain. Simple really.

'I suppose it is hard for your family to come by enough money to outfit you all in _proper_ clothing.'

'Yeah, we have to beg for scraps of food to survive,' I replied sarcastically.

'I'm sure my mother would be condescending enough to provide your family with charity if necessary. She is a very generous woman.'

It was always _my mother _this and _my mother _that. Was she recently sainted while I was hiding under a(metaphorical) rock?

'Whatever,' I replied promptly.

He wasn't meant to take the sarcasm so seriously. And nor was he meant to treat me with such belittling disrespect. I would be glad to leave the place soon.

***

New year's eve. I didn't think there'd be much joy or alcohol to be had, unless Kareena Burke suddenly decided she was an alcoholic and was going to indulge in her newly found addiction in front of us.

It didn't seem like she would be losing her grip on reality soon though. She was as sane as she would ever be in the morning.

I was walking outside in the surprisingly mild weather. The birds were twittering in the branches and I was basking in all of the glorious sunlight of the winter.

A small and speckled olive owl stooped down low, and landed clumsily onto my arm. It was _another _letter for me, and from an unknown owl to boot. The writing on it was familiar however. It was Jana's.

I opened it curiously. I wanted to hear how she was taking Al's sudden defection to Germany. I thought she would act calm and act as though Al was just a friend to her.

_Hey Rose! I didn't know where you were, but I asked your mum (who was really kind by the way) where you were so I could send this to you._

_So I guess you heard. Al's going to Germany for work. I'll miss him, and his stimulating conversation. I'll miss his sweet laughter and never-ending enthusiasm for everything quirky and cool. I can't wait for him to come back. I sent a letter to him a few days ago: he hasn't replied yet. _

_I wonder whether he finds my company is tiresome. He was a bit awkward and distracted at the dinner. When I left he sort of hurried out without mentioning his six months in Germany. _

_I felt a bit hurt. We were talking all night and he never said a word about it. I knew Al knew about his impending trip: Mr. Potter asked me afterwards whether Al had told me about his leaving England. It was a rather hurried thing, I heard afterwards. Al apparently only told his dad just before the end of the evening. _

_I __do__ feel upset with Al. I feel like he emotionally cheated me with something: he didn't tell me he was going for six months even when I thought we were great friends, maybe even more. _

_Rose, have a great holiday. _

_Love Jana._

I closed the letter, feeling discontented. This wasn't the Al I knew. The Al I knew didn't fail to inform even his remotest acquaintances of a six-month trip to another country. The Al I knew didn't sneak away and only tell his dad at the last minute about his planned work trip.

Jana, as I expected, sounded quite upset yet not really affected. But I could tell: she was emotionally invested in Al. She was in love with him, for Christ's sake! She was talking on and on about him. I could tell she was an incredibly shy person and yet she was laughing and smiling with Al all the time!

The yew trees created a winding path. I followed the windings, and came to an opening in the tree's canopies.

A solitary figure was standing alone with his cloak billowing in the wind. For a moment I thought it was the creeping and omniscient Malfoy, but the hair was a dark brown and not a shimmering blond.

'Richard!' I shouted happily. 'I thought you were Malfoy. He's always bloody everywhere!'

Richard happily ran up to me, and looped a lazy arm around my waist.

'I heard you had a bad _experience_ with Malfoy after our little snowball fight,' he said quizzically.

'He's not any worse than usual,' I replied.

'Hey! Scor isn't that bad!'

'He isn't that bad!' I said, imitating Richard's peeved manner.

'He's just a bit… Misunderstood. Everyone thinks he's a bit aloof and dominant –

'What you're trying to say is that he's cold and manipulative.'

'No. What I'm trying to say is everyone thinks he's the usual lying and cheating Malfoy. But really he has much better qualities.'

'I figured he does have a brain. He can give a fairly quick reply when he wants. Which is rarely'

'Not only that but he's scarily loyal. He'd be ready to do anything for his friends. Anything.'

'Could you kindly request him to jump off a really tall bridge? I think you would qualify as one of his friends while I don't.'

'There is a limit to his loyalty,' Richard answered. 'And I do think you qualify as his friend. Or maybe more,' he said suggestively.

I knew that Richard was implying that there was something more between Malfoy and I.

'Is there some kind of bet between you and Chantal and some other third party? It's like you're all trying to convince me to get together with Malfoy.'

'No, there isn't,' he said quickly. 'But isn't it pretty obvious that he's in love with you? You know, after his reaction to our brilliant prank?'

'I guess.'

'But that was beside the point. He was so angry because he was immensely envious of me.'

'Or maybe he was jealous of you kissing me. You never know.'

'If you need proof that he's actually a good guy let me indulge you with this short vignette.'

'You better make it short.'

'Well, one of his friends was desperately in love with this gold-digger, to put it kindly. Scor got him out of this tight spot by recommending him for this temporary job in Germany. Hopefully by then he'll have forgotten about the girl's stupid airs and flirting blond ways.'

'Who was Malfoy's purported friend?' I asked, knowing the answer.

'One of your cousins, Albus Potter. You should be glad he wasn't tricked by this girl who was just after the money and the name.'

'Malfoy had absolutely no right to do what he did!' I shouted. 'How was he to judge whether they loved each other?'

'Whoa, no need to be so violent!' he said with his hands up in surrender.

'What right did he have to separate them?'

'Great. You were meant to respect Malfoy's loyalty to his friend for separating him from that nefarious little manipulator.'

'Well, I'll see you later,' I said with a deceptively cheery wave to Richard.

I strode quickly, looking over my shoulder and saw Richard beckoning for me to stay. I ignored him.

I was feeling incandescent. I was feeling irate. Bloody Malfoy and his bloody interfering ways. He had only one, cold, cruel purpose in sending Al to Germany: to separate Al and Jana. Why? Why? Because he didn't feel loved himself and was jealous of the happiness of his supposed friend?

Bastard.

_A/N: I'm more than halfway! Yay! Next chapter (I think) will be Malfoy's declaration of love._


	13. Atop a starry hill

"_The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,"_

- The Highwayman (Alfred Noyes)

The night was beautiful and the wind ridiculously gentle. I was sitting on top of a ledge on top of a cliff face, with my legs dangling precariously over the edge. The full moon shimmered like a polished jewel and the stars like amber.

Malfoy swaggered up with his thumbs looped through his belt loops, ruining the perfectly romantic night. I thoroughly ignored his presence. He cleared his throat, not really sure whether it was intentional or not, and I turned my body around to the side facing him.

In turn Malfoy ignored me. He was pacing up and down the small patch of grass that was near the ledge I was sitting on and running a frantic hand through his hair. It was bluntly obvious that something was playing on his mind.

'Malfoy,' I said irritably, avoiding eye contact. 'If you pace anymore you will break this ledge off and we shall fall and die.'

'That would be a tragic thing indeed,' he replied with an equal amount of reserve.

'Very tragic indeed, depending on your point of view. I can't imagine you being really upset if I fell to my death.'

'You're wrong then.'

He said it so forcefully that I looked up to face him. By then he had strode up next to me. His standing stature towered over my sitting one, and yet again I felt his fearful, almost tyrannical physical presence.

'And might I ask why?' I said curiously.

'You've bewitched me. Not literally but figuratively. Everyday you sit at your desk and you just act so totally oblivious. I tried to ignore you, believe me. But every time I see you my admiration for you grows exponentially. It's unstoppable, despite your lack of an estate, money and blood that I have. I don't care how inferior you are to me. Marry me. I don't care how much I'm diluting my magical blood because of your Muggle parentage. I love you Rose,' he concluded passionately, slightly out of breath after his long monologue. 'Ever since the first moment I saw you.'

With all his reserve dissolved he placed a hand on my bare collarbone.

I was puzzled, but my reeling mind soon processed these essential facts: Malfoy was in love with me. And he wanted me to marry him.

I didn't _like _him, let alone adore him. Add to that his unfeeling addition that I was in every way inferior to him. That was the zinger.

I stood up next to him, drawing myself up to match his height. His hand was still gently resting on my clavicle, caressing it softly. I locked my eyes into his, having already determined my reply to him. It was the only reply I could give.

His face was sparkling with happiness and satisfaction and his hand softly caressed my skin. The impassive grey eyes now sparkled with vivacity and vitality. A small indulgent smile hung on his lips.

A small part of me was still holding out and thought that all this malarkey was a sick joke on the part of Richard, Chantal and Malfoy.

'I'm still trying to convince myself that this is all a huge betting scheme and if I marry you Chantal, Richard and you will all benefit,' I replied, calculating that some humour would effectively make Malfoy back off.

'A betting scheme,' he said scornfully, looking very disappointed at my decidedly unromantic reply. 'I can admire your impertinence but now at all times –

'Malfoy,' I growled as I felt his hand work its way up my neck. 'Hands off.'

He said nothing and relinquished the touch of his hand. I involuntarily gasped.

I had to admit that he was cute, in the very mature sense of the word, when he was so evidently confused. He had inadvertently bitten his lip, and drawn his pointed eyebrows closer together.

'Should I be falling down onto my knees in deep gratitude for your willingness to rescue me from the horrors of singledom?' I said sarcastically and successfully hiding the small tremble that I felt under his penetrating stare.

'Are you mocking me?' he asked, with a hint of a growl. The previously elated countenance was now red with anger and wrinkled with a dark scowl.

'No. I'm rejecting you,' I replied curtly, biting back the tide of conflicting emotions so I could act without regretting it the next morning.

There were numerous forces acting upon the pair of us. I would be a simpleton to miss the friction that was between us, the attraction that managed to pull us together, if not amicably.

'And what are your reasons for that?' he inquired, looking more sober and confused.

Al and Jana anyone? I liked to think that if he could read Jana's sweetly heartfelt letter, if he could see her angelic face in tears he would understand why I couldn't possibly accept to even remotely _respect _him as a person.

'My reasons? How about your systematic destruction of Al and Jana's relationship? Your only purpose in encouraging Al to go to Germany was to ruin Al and Jana's relationship!' I questioned, exasperated by Malfoy's affected ignorance to everything.

'Damn Richard,' he mumbled to himself, looking shame-faced. 'He wasn't meant to tell you anything.'

He paused and said nothing. He stood there with his back painfully and proudly erect and continuing to act as though he was utterly innocent in that matter.

'Defend yourself! Jana is my friend and Al is my cousin!' I said hotly.

'I couldn't stand there watching my best friend becoming the prey of a conniving stalker,' he said ardently. 'Would you be able to see your friend being whisked away by someone so wholly undeserving, who only wanted the money, fame and the name so she could show off to everyone else?'

'No! But I might have _condescended _to ask said friend whether there was any affection in the case. Which there was,' I said irately.

'She was smiling and laughing, goading him on! When Al finally tore himself away from her she was happy enough to smile and laugh for another man. She wasn't in love with him: you just wanted them together,' he said while gesturing fervently.

'They brought out the best in each other! I might have thought they were perfect together, except I didn't interfere with anything they did or chose to do. Why were you to be the judge of whether they were meant to love one another? What do you know about love?'

'I know,' he replied bitterly. 'I've been in the throes of its deep and irrational passion.'

'Really?' I replied, about to continue harshly before my voice trailed off on seeing his ragged breathing and pained expression.

The wind had now stopped blowing, and the stagnancy of the air intensified the deep silence that had managed to engulf us. Malfoy's grey eyes were still staring hard at me, as though he was trying to physically peel off my numerous layers of hatred and loathing.

'And about your mistreatment of Jake Wickham? Can you deny you kicked him out of the only home he had ever known?' I asked Malfoy, feeling indignant for Wickham, who was treated in such a blindly insensitive way.

I hadn't forgotten Wickham's tortured and regretful face as he recalled his horrible circumstances, and I hadn't forgotten the horrid indifference that Malfoy had shown to him in all of our conversations.

'Wickham?' he answered after a small pause, the jeering edge returning to his voice. 'He's a danger to all society. He poisons people, in the only way his subtle but seriously dysfunctional mind knows. You aren't still lapping up his lies like a dog laps up the water in his bowl?'

'They aren't lies,' I snapped.

'Of course they aren't lies,' he replied sarcastically.

Apparently his being snubbed in love had given him a caustic tongue.

'Wickham doesn't deserve your compassion. None of it,' he added abruptly.

'He deserves my compassion more than you do,' I said boldly.

'And why would that be?' he asked with a low, menacing voice that was barely above a whisper.

Boy, that dangerous voice was always a real catalyst for me to annoy the hell out of Malfoy.

'What you did to Wickham and Jana and Al was just a manifestation of your general contemptuous indifference to the feelings of others! Call it whatever you like! Pride, selfishness, vanity or conceit! You ignored their emotions, their livelihood and you even have the gall to _propose _to me and then follow that promptly with an _insult_ to my background and family!' I shouted maliciously, my voice rising in a furious crescendo fuelled by _his_ infuriating self.

It felt good. It felt _so _good to finally volley back to him _everything_ he had done wrong in his life that had ruined everybody else's.

I could see that I had decisively silenced Malfoy for the time being at least. He _literally _reeled back, as though my words had been a physical blow. The uncomfortably close distance between us had no widened. It was though the mental chasm between us was now symbolized physically. If I had it my way though Malfoy would probably be thrown into the Grand Canyon.

After stumbling over his words a bit he replied. 'For countless generations my family has married within exclusively magical families. I think you can understand why I wasn't wholly enthusiastic for a relationship between us. But your sublime beauty, your way with words is just –

Once again he had given me a compliment simultaneous to an insult.

'Nice attempt at trying to compliment me, but you really need to cut out the insults.'

'Maybe if I _did_ flatter your vanity you would have accepted! If I said I didn't care about my family, if I said I didn't give a damn about what everyone else would think about us together it might have worked out!'

He started his pacing again but this time he paced in a circle around me, causing me to feel even more disorientated than before.

'Who gives a damn what anyone else thinks?' I replied. 'It doesn't matter.'

'It does! Certain people expect things from a person like me.'

'Like what?'

Malfoy had stopped pacing around but was still harping on about his family's social standing, ancestry and history. If he really did care so much he wouldn't care a jot for me.

'Like an advantageous marriage to someone young, a pure –

He was unbearable! _Advantageous _marriage? Was he seriously so classist? Was he seriously so_ proud_ of himself that he thought I would fall to my knees just because all those simpering airheads like Cassiopeia?

'And aren't I as good as you are?' I yelled feeling incredibly demeaned. 'Are you implying you're too _bloody _short-sighted to realise that my family's just as good as your one?'

'You have to admit that our families are light-years apart. My family was one of the oldest magical Norman families, whereas you can barely trace your family beyond three or four generations!'

'Our families may be different, but I refuse to accept they aren't equal!'

'Anything else to add to your abuse list?' he said after a small pause, with an attempt at humour.

'The way that you try to manipulate people to your liking, and if they're made up of stronger substance then you try and block doorways or make them cower in corners!'

'It was all for your own benefit, believe me!' he replied, with his voice now raised due to my continual talk (which he would probably view as obstinacy).

'And the fact that you think that the Potter's are in some way better than my family? Do you think that the Potter's have to preserve their exclusiveness while the Weasley's should just throw away their life for anyone who comes to get them?'

'No, but the Potter's are richer and more famous.'

I didn't know which one was worse: the fact that he thought the Potter's were better than us poor weasels in the Weasley family or the matter-or-fact way he stated it. The way he said it made it sound as though money and fame were everything!

'I'm not trying to insult your family. I'm just trying to state the obvious,' he added hastily.

Malfoy had pushed the boundaries too much. Contrary to his claims he was now just defiling my family.

'Your pride and ego is absolutely meteoric! The way that you stare at everyone and look down upon them, the way that your eyes don't quite engage other people's with any depth or sincerity was already enough to make me _despise _you, let alone Al and Jana, Wickham and your never-ending insults!' I shouted, feeling the upwelling of tears in my eyes.

He walked up to about a yard from me, anticipating a fitting ending to my tirade.

'You think you're so right but you're so unbelievably _wrong_! And you don't even have the courage to admit it!' I concluded.

I caught my breath, and waited for his reply.

'I owe you my thanks,' he said resentfully. His face was positively thunderous. 'I owe you my thanks for telling me just how _bad _a person I am.'

He closed the distance between us and gave me an impulsive kiss on the lips. For the briefest of moments I enjoyed it and then I slapped him hard on the cheek.

'That's the last kiss you'll ever get from me,' I replied venomously.

He took an earnest look at me and then strode away from me. The fists by his side were shaking with an uncontrollable anger.

_A/N: This was a ridiculously hard chapter to write. I hope it wasn't as atrocious as the dark cynic in me thinks it is._


	14. We were made to fall

_A/N: Don't own anything – not even the basic plotline sadly – that's Jane Austen's. Don't own the characters either._

_[Author kneels down and begs for mercy] Sorry for that awful two-month wait: other parts of my life beckoned._

She was unutterably beautiful.

Her skin glimmered in his imagination. The penetrating midnight blue of her dress draped on her was rather dull compared to the sight he had seen yesterday of her bare stomach.

There was a strong fire blazing in his room, spreading an all-encompassing warmth through his body. The red flickering embers reminded him of the colour of her hair, and the way that her intensely brown eyes would flash when she got angry.

It was like she was being willfully troublesome sometimes; the way that she stormed from the marble staircase when he could see her spasm in pain from her torso, the way that she would deliberately force herself from safety and right into danger.

She was smart too, providing a witty response to everything. And he was convinced that underneath that seemingly cynical and shallow banter was a set of unshakeable morals.

He looked out the window and saw the drizzle clear. The fire was starting to feel oppressive, and the building perspiration crippling. Maybe it was the fire, or thinking about Rose too much. That usually prompted a physical reaction.

Running down the stairs to the stone archway allowed him a fresh gulp of crisp air. He leaned on the archway to catch his breath. Maybe he would see Rose appear from the fog, a fiery apparition.

Footsteps slapped hard against the stone and Malfoy turned around, his heart quickening at the thought of seeing her. He refrained from turning around to the approaching person and waited. He held his breath and waited for the distinctive swing of her red hair to burst into his line of vision.

'Hey,' said a distinctly un-Rose-like voice.

He snapped his head around to the direction of the source of the voice, and saw the brown hair and friendly smiling face of Rose's friend.

'Chantal,' he replied.

It was slightly embarrassing for him to bump into her on the second day of the visit and then realise he had ignored her completely in his hopeless preoccupation with Rose.

'I didn't fancy seeing you around her,' she said in a light conversational way.

'Nor did I,' he said as though he was talking to himself.

Malfoy picked a dry twig off the ground and split it in half. There was something mildly therapeutic and mind cleansing about the hollow cracking noise that his force alone could instigate.

'So, what are you doing here?' she asked.

'Getting some fresh air.'

'You know,' she said with a hint of a wicked smile, 'that Rose is quite fond of these random leisurely walks. I run for exercise's sake and not for pleasure, and I'm quite sure that most people hate to put that kind of strain on their feet. So I guess that makes you two _really _similar doesn't it?'

He tried to keep his composed air on the mention of her name and Chantal's obvious allusions to their suitability together by disinterestedly kicking the ruined halves of his twig.

'Is she a good friend of yours?' he asked in a curious voice. 'I mean Rose of course,' he then added, trying to backpedal on his curious voice.

'Hell yes!' she shouted enthusiastically, like she was trying to sell her friend. 'I've known her for absolutely _ages _and she's as good a friend as I've ever known. In fifth year I had a Transfiguration essay that was due in an hour and she basically let me copy word for word. And after many a disastrous Hogsmeade date she would have a kind word and the respect to leave me alone for the night so I could cheer up.'

Chantal did sound like she was a salesman peddling a product to him, albeit with a lot more sincerity.

'She sounds like a good friend then.'

'Definitely! She went to my mum's funeral and she gave me a shoulder to cry on throughout the whole service.'

He looked up in a mildly concerned way, actually feeling very affected by her strength in talking about her mother's funeral in such a blasé way. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't worry. I've got an aunt who's sort of become a surrogate mother.'

He detected a hint of bitterness in her voice when she talked about this aunt of hers that had definitely failed to replace the place of her mother in her heart.

He was right: Chantal didn't much like her family and her mother was a pacifying influence on her father's ferocious temper. Her aunt, who was her father's brother-in-law, only served to encourage her father to make rash choices and generally manipulate people.

Her father and aunt had been quite enthusiastic to throw Chantal together with Probity Burke. She didn't resist it despite Rose's decidedly eager proclamation in dissuading her from what was essentially prostitution in an arranged marriage. He would probably run out of things to say in the first few hours of everyday and then would shut up and leave her to do whatever she wanted. And contrary to Rose's belief nothing was even certain: it was all just a holiday to 'know their lover more intimately', in her aunt's incredibly crass and vulgar words. If she did eventually get to marry him it'd be a relief to leave a family whose elaborate and regular dinner parties were starting to get more paltry and increasingly looking like they were trying to hold on to their last remnants of medieval glory. She would understand if she ever had to _marry_ Probity it was all for a chance of a comfortable life. Chantal assured herself everything was undecided.

Rose, despite whatever she was mistaken about, was an amazing friend and she would be sad to lose her respect so utterly and wholly. She had (generally) good intentions for anyone who deserved it. Rose deserved someone brilliant, someone amazing. Chantal would try to push Rose to him.

Out of the people she had met Probity was superficial but essentially bearable and easily persuaded and Kareena Burke was superficial _and_ menacingly disapproving about just about everything. Richard was nice, and she wondered where he had gotten his genes from: the dead father probably was good-looking and had a shred of sense and heart.

Malfoy was by far the most interesting person who was invited. He was hopelessly in love with Rose, and stared longingly across the room at her. It was clear that Rose wasn't giving Malfoy enough credit for his intelligence and unwavering empathy for others. He was more sensitive than most of the girl's, let alone boys she knew. Add to that some flying rumours about Malfoy's sister and an elusive man known as Wickham. They were unsubstantiated, but Chantal knew that soon enough Rose's delusions about Wickham would finally end. Chantal would just rather let Malfoy, the actual hero of that story, tell Rose. Rose would probably believe it more.

'I should be going in now,' Malfoy said as he threw the stick he was fidgeting with away.

'I'll see you around,' Chantal replied.

She skipped happily away and then she turned around to him again.

'Good luck with it,' she said mysteriously.

Before he could reply she had ran back into the house.

Good luck with what?

He had to give it to Chantal: she was quite perceptive and in tune with other people's feelings. She was very un-subtly suggesting that Rose and he were _perfect _together. What was stopping them? Why was he staring hopelessly at her everyday when she could be in his arms?

***

He was sure that he had managed to weather even the strong marble floor with his pacing.

His aunt had been particularly tiresome, trying to get him to join a department where one of her friends was the head. Living off other people: he despised people who did that but recognized the irony of his situation. He had sailed through life easily, and with a deep vault of gold to satisfy his every want.

Tonight was going to be the night. The New Year's Eve was symbolic. A new year, a new beginning. The awkwardness between them would be dissolved. She would know his passion. He would tell her about his hopeless infatuation and of everything that had drove him nearly crazy, separated by those _stupid _desks on opposite sides of the room. It might as well have been on opposite sides of the planet.

He had been worried about what everyone would think of them when they walked out of the Ministry hand in hand. He had been worried that he was somehow failing the silent expectations of all his family. The images of familial glory, fame and superiority had been ingrained within him. With words they had tried to tell him of how everyone, regardless of family background, were equal in the world of magical society. But there was always a suppressed bitterness in their voices when they described the rather evil events surrounding Voldemort. A decidedly sinister reputation followed the Malfoy family everywhere.

Rose was worth twice the scorn of his collected family. Ten times, a hundred times.

Beautiful. _Check. Flaming red hair and the face of an angel_. Well-read. _Check. She could make animated conversation on nearly any subject_. Intelligent. _Check. If she didn't know what the hell was going on she could probably bluff and improvise her way through it_. Extroverted._ Check_. Determined. _Check. Foolhardy more like: to disagree with someone for the sole purpose of disagreement on nothing more solid than intuition. _Persistent. _Check. The girl could get through and type a whole pile of incredibly dry material. _Brave. _Check. Questionable actually. But anyone (the exception maybe being Richard) who challenged his (great) aunt in such an ostentatiously defiant manner was quite formidable in his eyes_. Independent. _Check. As demonstrated in the encounters detailed previously. _Random knowledge of Muggle pop culture. _Check. But maybe Shakespeare was not that random, nor Beethoven. _A sense of humour. _Check. Well developed eye for satire and sarcasm especially. _Overall, cute insanity? _Check. An incredible partiality for talking and amazing energy and vivacity always gave the impression of mental instability. _

Richard would call him delirious for actually checking off a list of attributes for the perfect woman. Richard would laugh, and then flash an _I-told-you-so _look at him in finally finding a _Weasley_ who ticked all the boxes. He never told stupid Cassiopeia Burke that her list of traits for the perfect woman was absolute crap.

He looked out the window to see her sitting alone on a deserted ledge, sitting so serenely. So _goddamn _beautiful in her own casual and disinterested way.

It was time to grasp the opportunity. He would get her.

***

He would have never had admitted that on that night his heart was beating so hard because he was _afraid _of her. Afraid of the fact that she could simply say no and he couldn't force her to change her mind, save through messy Unforgivables.

He tentatively fingered the loops of his pants, fidgeting hopelessly and willing himself to step forward. She was sitting there, legs dangling and with what he imagined was a dreamy expression on her face as she stared into the stars and lost her head in the clouds. The pacing was uncontrollable as a thousand different scenarios played out in his mind. Some involved her meek compliance but the majority were rather more passionate as her face became so prettily flushed with anger, an anger that soon dissolved in amorous embraces and whispered words of love.

'Malfoy,' she said. 'If you pace anymore you will break this ledge off and we shall fall and die.'

She had just interrupted his rambling thoughts of kissing her.

'That would be a tragic thing indeed,' he replied, trying to keep his voice steady while still trying to perpetuate his wondrous dream.

'Very tragic indeed, depending on your point of view. I can't imagine you being really upset if I fell to my death.'

The sarcasm was all there, just without the usual light and fluffy playfulness that characterized her usual banter. He wrought his eyes up to her face, only seeing scorn and immense distaste in her expression. He was momentarily speechless, fumbling about words in his mind as he tried to counter the disbelief in her raised eyebrows.

'You're wrong then.'

Those perfectly arched eyebrows were mocking him again, asking him to peel away the layers of awkwardness and tell the complete truth.

'And might I ask why?' she asked.

The face wasn't playing easy with him now but playing hard like a lawyer trying to cross-question a defendant to insanity. Her voice was edgy, precise and ice-cold and the consonants crisp and hard. He marveled her amazing tonal range, from the sweet, melodious and rounded words that flowed like honey to the short, energetic staccato phrasing of piercing questions.

She bit her lip, making a seemingly innocent action that still managed to send a paroxysm of agony and pleasure through him. It was ridiculous for him to spend so long pining after her when he got most girls swooning in his spell, panting. It was bloody emasculating to imagine that he couldn't seduce any pretty girl if he wanted to. This pretty girl was slightly different to the rest, but nonetheless the principle still applied.

He walked slightly closer to her and dared to lift his eyes to hers. She hesitated but then lifted her eyes to meet his. His throat constricted and he forced his mouth to start making some noise. He fixed his eyes in what he believed was an earnest expression and tried to remember desperately some eloquent words of love he seemed to forget once he saw her.

'You've bewitched me.'

There was a slight twitch in her face as he said that, only realizing much too late that it sounded as though he was accusing her of using nefarious wandwork to ensnare him.

'Everyday you sit at your desk and you just act so totally oblivious. I tried to ignore you, believe me.' He _had_ tried desperately not to fall for this unusually pretty girl out of all the rest he saw.

'But every time I see you my admiration for you grows exponentially. It's unstoppable, despite your lack of an estate, money and blood that I have. I don't care how inferior you are to me,' he added. He thought that the mention of money and blood would not help but her eyes were begging for truth and as he had already laid the groundwork for thoroughly embarrassing himself there was no point in holding back now.

'Marry me.'

He had no plan to say that but he couldn't stop himself after seeing the immensely cute furrowing of her brow and the way the skin over her cheekbones stretched as she pursed her lips. They could run away together, basking in each other's glow without his _stupid_ aunt trying to stare them down. Life would be good, and they would laugh as they ran away together in the dead of night, married by the beginning of the New Year.

'I don't care how much I'm diluting my magical blood because of your Muggle parentage. I love you Rose. Ever since the first moment I saw you.'

He hadn't meant to tell her about his reservations about her mother, who despite being crazily intelligent liker her daughter was still a Muggle-born. Their children could be non-magical, a horrifying concept to him who valued magic as the foremost part of his life. It was his identity, and what made up every part of his being. His family had ingrained him with the idea of the family's deep, deep magical history and the family tree was a symbol for the many centuries of grandeur and excellence. It was formidable to him.

Magic was _everything_.

His hands were slightly clammy as he reached his tentative fingers to the milky skin of her clavicle. His mind was in a haze as everything was happening, like during his naïve days as a school student taking an exam.

He saw the puzzled expression on her face and the attempts she made to articulate her tumultuous thoughts. He was proud that he had managed to put her thoughts in disarray like she did to his.

'I'm still trying to convince myself that this is all a huge betting scheme and if I marry you Chantal, Richard and you will all benefit,' she said, the light sarcasm returning but still failing to hide the immense disdain in her voice.

A betting scheme? Was she crazy? He had told her everything and she thought he was playing some kind of cruel joke on her. Did she still honestly believe that he was the kind of person to tell a girl that he loved them only to turn around and laugh at them five seconds later?

He was still marveling at the soft skin of her neck, mutely aware of the fact that she hadn't really accepted the proposal. In hindsight it was _a bit _ridiculous, but he had really pulled out all stops to grovel at this girl's feet and admit that he had fallen in love with her. He was still grasping at the rapidly fading hope of Rose simply making another one of her unconventional jokes. And he thought that _she_ wasn't the kind to willingly hurt someone else's feelings. He thought she wasn't the kind to send subtle signals that she loved someone and then turn around and laugh at them for their stupidity.

He was ready to try the ludicrous by kissing her, but she stopped him.

'Should I be falling down onto my knees in deep gratitude for your willingness to rescue me from the horrors of singledom?'

He was starting to hate the sarcasm. Goddamn impertinence and wit.

'Are you mocking me?' he replied, not daring any more to hope that she would ever love him.

'No.'

There was the briefest pause, and the briefest burst of sunshine upon his soul as she supposedly indicated that she wasn't making fun of him.

'I'm rejecting you,' she said, her face completely devoid of any pity or regret. She was taking a leaf out of his book, trying to stop wearing her heart on her sleeve.

The briefest burst of sunshine past as he prepared for the monumental mental breakdown that would definitely accompany the woman of his dreams (for the past two months at least) blatantly refusing his offering of love. He braced himself but the hopeless feeling of falling into a deep chasm had not yet occurred. He was surprisingly numb and oblivious to the new developments so far.

He could feel the start of a breakdown though. His usual focus and concentration was starting to fall apart and all he was able to glean from her was her hatred and scorn of him. She shouted at his desperately throbbing head about Al and that hopelessly awful girl and he tried valiantly to make his 'separation' of them seem morally justified while enduring the nausea of a migraine.

In his many years Malfoy had had his fair share of people trying to suck up to him, and he could spot the typical symptoms of sycophancy in Jana when she nodded dully and seemed to come alive and listen only when it was necessary. He had seen Jana get absolutely _everything _for Al and seem like the archetypal perfect housewife, or rather house-girlfriend.

And then she started to harp on about all of Wickham's virtues.

What virtues? Did they include being a general criminal by pillaging, looting and raping everywhere like some vagabond soldier in some horrid Muggle army?

He hoped that she had better morals then those.

The headache was still there, and the mention of Wickham had only made it worse by bringing back the memory of the similarly bad headache of that horrible night where Lola went missing, to be found deserted in some dingy alleyway near the pub where he had decided to be foolish enough to celebrate a birthday with cheap alcohol.

Wickham. He instigated nearly every major calamity of his life with a devious smile and a malious wink.

He was only vaguely registering the meaning of every quick phrase of hers. He knew later that he would remember in awful clarity each detail of the night. It had been the same when they figured out that Wickham had raped Lola.

She was still moving her lips at a furious speed, with occasional spitting occurring inevitably due to the passionate frenzy of her words.

'- ignored their emotions, their livelihood and you even have the gall to _propose _to me and then follow that promptly with an _insult_ to my background and family!'

The cogs of his mind were turning painfully slowly and his defence was especially lame. He started off by stating a purely accurate fact that managed to offend her, even though it was basking in historical righteousness and an unbiased point of view. He then tacked a compliment to the back of it, hoping to lessen the blow of his previous words.

'Nice attempt at trying to compliment me, but you really need to cut out the insults,' she said, with that Wickham-esque smile planted on her face.

His anger with her was starting to rise like the magma rising in a volcano. The volcano of burgeoning anger burst forth upon Rose, in the form of bitter and scathing words.

'Maybe if I _did_ flatter your vanity you would have accepted! If I said I didn't care about my family, if I said I didn't give a damn about what everyone else would think about us together it might have worked out!'

How could she have ever thought that even the purest love for her would mean that he would abandon the memory of his noble forbearers by supposedly showing off a half-blood pretty slip of a thing to the world? The world would think he was using Rose as a gambit just to try and improve the Malfoy's public image by showing off a gorgeous, intelligent _Weasley_. They would think that she was his trophy wife. And on the flip side other people would just think it was despicable that a Malfoy would hook up with some Weasley girl.

He was so frustrated that he had trouble articulating the simplest, most archaic of feelings when he never had any problems expressing complex ideas in a concise paragraph. She would never understand his values, or any part of him because he couldn't articulate any of his _damn thoughts!_

In frustration and desperation he engaged in a vigorous pacing and fidgeting fit. Why was there so much misunderstanding between them? It had breed so much distrust of one another and she hated him just because she didn't understand him.

And it really did annoy him when he heard her say that she didn't give a damn about the world. It would have annoyed him enough for her to have been pretentious enough to say that opposite of what he said just to irk him but what really angered him was the fact that she actually sounded _sincere_ and _genuine_ when she said that she didn't care about other people's opinion.

She was truly a deviant, not caring about what other people said about her as long as she was satisfied with herself. She was so self-assured and never felt the crippling weight of the fear of other people's judgement and condemnation.

Her piercing eyes were back, sending the feeling of a knife plunging right to the back of his heart and mind. He was helpless against her accusations, and he gave up fumbling for answers and instead stood there in a dignified silence. She would make a great lawyer if she had aspirations higher than the mediocrity of filing useless papers and creating farcical sketches out of a boring life.

The silence didn't last long however and every time he said something she managed to make a rebuttal _and_ twist his words wildly out of shape. Everything that he said to her was honest, brutally honest and in her eyes it only served to make her hate him more. He would have sworn that she managed to give him a hefty dose of Veritaserum every time she so much as looked at him.

She continued shouting, accusing him of a huge pride, a huge ego, a huge everything-under-the-sun-that-was-bad. He was so _tired_ and _angry_ at having nothing but insults hurled at him. Yet despite that he still found that he loved the fact that she was stubborn, relentless, fearless and sharp.

Her tirade finally reached a climax, and by the end of it she was red in the face and panting hard. He tried to regain what precious dignity remained after his sense of worth was so thoroughly destroyed.

'I owe you my thanks. I owe you my thanks for telling me just how _bad _a person I am.'

He had felt it necessary to repeat his thanks to Rose, trying to hurt her with sarcasm like she had hurt him. He was sure that his face was convulsed in some terrifying way, reflecting his tumultuous thoughts.

Determined to make a clean breast of his attempt to hurt her he leant in for a kiss, hoping to make her regret what she had lost, pretend that she hadn't hurt him and to taunt her.

He was glad that he had managed to thoroughly scare her again. There was a small flit of shock and then terror in her eyes before she relaxed. _Slightly_. The fire of the love of her within him had been rekindled as he worked his way through her soft pink lips. Her eyelids seem to shimmer with the dust of the stars and her eyes had that pearlescent of the moon. The cheeks were flushed and her hair was disheveled with strands falling onto her forehead. He wasn't thinking of much else but the feel of her full lips over his and the feeling of bare skin on bare skin. His heart was racing and he could hear the thunderous thumping of his companion's heart.

She responded back fiercely: in the form of an almighty slap.

His face was burning although her hands were perilously cold. A deathly silence hung, only occasionally punctuated by the sound of birds in the sky.

'That's the last kiss you'll ever get from me,' she said, with a harsh growl uncharacteristic of her.

He only realized then that he had royally stuffed up any chance he ever had with Rose Weasley.

***

He was positively thunderous as he strode away from her. He held in the urge to let out a huge roar of anger and instead satisfied himself by clenching his fist and trying to dig his fingernails as deep as they could go into his palm.

She had insulted him mercilessly and grudged him his love for her. Why did he have to have the misfortune of falling in love with someone who hated him?

Why?

Why?

Why?

He took a sadistic pleasure in kicking each rock and pretending that it was Rose Weasley's face. She had so thoroughly condemned every part of him and thought that he was some obsessive-compulsive meddler with evil tendencies. Now she hated him, and knowing her stubborn way it was likely to stay that way unless a miracle occurred.

_Now_ he was having a mental breakdown. The tightly bound gears of his mind were starting to unwind, his thoughts coming apart and his internal monologue dogged by horrible _what ifs_.

What if he had told her about the messy history between Wickham and him? What if he had decided to make sickeningly obvious displays of affection to her? What if he had decided to stop acting like he was a 'pretentious git'?

Now he couldn't indulge in wild flights of fantasy without the jarring pang of reality reminding him that she despised him fully. There was the exhilarating thrill of that kiss, but if felt hopelessly hollow to his romantic mind. There was absolutely no respect or trust for him in that moment and his motives were more selfish than sincere.

But what was the difference between selfishness and selflessness? Was saving someone you loved selfish or selfless? There was no difference between wanting to protect someone just to hold them one more time and to protect someone just so they could live their life how they wanted to.

That kiss with Rose had been out of spite and selfishness though and even in his deteriorating state of mind he felt the need to morally justify that bliss by saying that it was a gift of love that showed his sincere intentions.

Such was human nature, or at least his nature.

It was infuriating to know that she was so stubbornly and _wrongly_ against him! Why wouldn't she listen to the truth? Could she not accept that not everyone was as outwardly good as their disarmingly nice and charming exteriors might suggest? Why was she so hasty to judge him when she was so lenient towards Wickham who had ditched her at that ball?

Rose had judged him upon a first impression and she hadn't had the sense to change her mind, only choosing to see what her mind wanted to see. He may have called her barely pretty but that was his instinctive reflex. A Weasley?

Through those tedious days in the office he had changed his mind and ended up falling in love with her looks and intelligence.

She on the other hand was determined to hate him with a vengeance, using that first overheard comment as a catalyst and as a reason to loathe that Slytherin snake Malfoy. She was holding a grudge against him, seeing all his actions through the prism of that first blasé remark.

Why so stubborn? Why so determined to see everything the wrong way? Hadn't he made his love obvious to her through adoring gazes, kind comments and a general concern for her welfare?

She was the kind of girl who would refuse protection even if she knew she was going to die. Furiously independent.

How could he ever have thought that she would condescend to _marry_ him? How could she have caused him to fall so desperately that he would propose to her a mere two months after becoming her colleague? Maybe he should have loosened up instead of deciding to become deathly silent and internally moan about the banality of his life whenever he was around her.

He walked back through a side door, knowing that no one would be around to watch his furious stomping and to hear the constant stream of dark words spewing from his mouth.

Richard was there with Chantal, laughing manically at some (probably) vulgar joke or anecdote he told her. Malfoy stopped his muttering and looked in to see them both sitting on the balcony with food and alcohol aplenty. He squinted to make sure that the balcony didn't overlook the cliff where the whole scene with Rose had played out. Richard and Chantal turned around, saw him, and then beckoned for him to come. Seeing his foul mood Richard turned back to talk with Chantal and all she did was to shoot a weird look at him. He _hated _them. Not just because of the association of the two with Rose on the visit but because they had inadvertently supported his _crush_ on Rose which subsequently failed so epically.

He was not in the mood for a party tonight. He was rarely in the mood for a party in fact but especially not tonight after the love (of his life?) had rebuked him so harshly.

He continued up the stairs. The marble sounded hollow and dull. It felt hopelessly pretentious instead of being tastefully opulent. He was becoming a Rose Weasley, hating all things unnecessarily rich and fine.

He sat down, cursing the fact that his window looked over the place where she had rejected him. He sighed.

It would not do to leave the place before making an attempt to explain himself to Rose.

_Thanks a lot, _he wrote, sensing that the first letter he wrote would be more an outlet for his emotions than something another person would appreciate reading.

_You haven't noticed yet? It's sarcasm, your favourite tool, alongside those killer looks and charmingly naïve and delusional sense of righteousness._

_You delight in indulging that sharp wit of yours to torment people. Why can't you go and delight someone else with your sparkling verbosity instead of trying to literally and figuratively push me off that cliff? You reel people in by batting eyelashes, flaunting the right curves and speaking some words of repartee. Then you tell them that they're worthless, that their morals, beliefs and their heart and soul are trash and that you despise every fibre of their being. You play us men for fools. _

_I may have acted in a cold, even cruel way but at least I was upfront with everything. At least I laid the truth bare for you to see instead of wrapping it up with a bundle of lies. _

_Do you really have no capability to speak without mocking someone in every phrase? Do you really have any substance behind all these snarky, meaningless phrases? Sarcasm does not become you, no matter how lovely that face is._

_You're just so proud, stubborn and unbelievably sure of yourself. You just think you are right about everything, and stick to your wholly biased point of view even if it's just for the sake of annoying me. Do you ever think of putting a filter in between your mind and your mouth before speaking? Did your mother ever tell you to think before you speak? Just maybe next time you could have rejected me in a slightly more tactful way. Instead of insulting me (which seems to be all you are capable of doing) you could have been more rational and not explode with anger for seemingly no reason at all._

_Was I really wrong in thinking that absolutely no one would approve of us together, anywhere? Society has expectations on all of us and you know it. What would they say if we were romantically linked, or heaven forbid even married? That father of yours would go ballistic and he would probably use that as an excuse to duel my father. Everyone expects me to be brilliant, do something amazing and bask in the glory of hereditary money and fame. I am just not meant to go out with someone whose family is respected but still widely regarded as thrifty and constantly trying to make ends meet. Add that our parents' relationship was antagonistic to the point of murderous and then you see that love between us was going to be a hell of a lot harder than with anyone else._

_I'm proud of the distinguished names and groundbreaking, amazing, brilliant achievements of my forbearers, and I want to retain that kind of precious, valuable dignity that everybody takes for granted. Would that be possible if I got married to a Weasley, no less one that could probably make a complete fool of herself in public and stick out like a sore thumb with ridiculously vibrant red hair? A Weasley and a Malfoy? A bright, outlandish, upstart Gryffindor teamed up with a dignified, reserved, and well-established Slytherin? Is this some kind of lame joke? But the worse thing is that you don't even try to dispel these supposedly restrictive stereotypes but you reinforce them with your actions! You, the person who shouts on about social equality, justice and rights, are a hypocrite in the way you act. You say you don't care, but you do care about all this_

_At least you aren't being a social mountaineer, like that upstart Jana. She's some kind of sick sycophant masquerading as an adoring angel just to get the prestige of dating a Potter. How could you ever be tricked by her, my fortuitous Rose? Those smiles and zombie-like nodding are so forced and fake that even someone so nice and unobservant couldn't miss it unless they were hopelessly in love. I do honestly think that he fell for her through innocent means. I was watching them carefully and she didn't slip anything into his drinks or jinx him._

_I couldn't stand you consorting with Wickham either. Those polished manners barely concealed the malice beneath. I had started to fall in love with you already, and then to see you fall into his hands was utter agony. I thought that my word was strong enough to keep you from associating with him, but apparently not. You had so little faith in me and I could not bring myself to divulge the whole messy history. _

_Wickham is a despicable man willing to destroy the world if he thought it could benefit him in any way. We put him in a position of trust, and then be betrayed it so fully by stealing close to a hundred thousand galleons from our family's own (hard-earned) vault of money. I kindly told him to 'get lost' and he did. Temporarily. He came back and acted as if we had cheated him out of something by preventing him from stealing our fortune. He raped my little sister Lola. Unless you are significantly stupider than you seem you can see why I didn't ever want you to get anywhere near him. See, I wasn't as ridiculous as you thought I was when I tried to block you from your 'date' with Wickham, and I knew that he had a particular panache for young, pretty and naïve girls._

_But most of all, I must give you copious thanks for you informing me that there was no point in driving myself crazy over you when you hated me and were so undeserving._

_Love – _

He was about to add his name to the word 'love' but then he realized that it might be seen by Rose as a provocative statement designed to make her feel remorseful for telling him to piss off in a not-so-kind way. Then again he _had_ wanted to make her feel bad and force her to run back into his arms, tearful. And then again she wasn't likely to read this letter because he wasn't willing to send such a pain-laden letter to her, making it seem as though he despised her. He did _resent_ her but underneath that was a much stronger, much less brittle love for her.

He briefly toyed with ceremonially burning the letter in a bonfire but decided to keep it as a bittersweet memento of the night where his world came crashing done. That and someone might notice the raging vault of fire presided over by an evilly cackling, half-crazed Malfoy.

The relentless torrent of rain fell, recalling to him the many restless teenager nights where he had lain awake pondering the questions of the world. The raindrops had a peculiar pattern and rhythm to them, a ceaseless cycle of gently pattering droplets accompanying the scrawl of his feathered quill. He could see her lying in the half-drenched grass, sprawled out and her hair flying out everywhere.

She was the epitome of ethereal beauty, lying there with her limbs skewed all over the place and her body drenched. She had taken off her sweater, revealing a singlet underneath and it left her slender arms bare. The water continued to pound her and she remained rooted to the ground, obstinately immovable.

How could he have called her barely pretty? He had never whispered to her how beautiful she was. He had never told her anything about his feelings before that explosive outburst of feeling tonight.

It was time to rewrite the letter with more tact after he had gotten rid of the more potent of his angsty feelings. He took a deep breath, trying not to be distracted by the fact that she was right there through the open window.

_Rose,_

_I write this in the hope that you will never have your heart so thoroughly broken. I also write this to defend what little integrity I have left in your eyes. Believe me, this isn't a defence driven purely by my 'meteoric pride' but you have a right to know the truth._

_You might view the friendship between Al and I with some skepticism. But, like you, I only wanted the best for him. I saw Al and this new girl Jana. It was obvious that they liked each other, or rather it was obvious that Al liked, maybe loved, Jana. Her feelings were more dubious. She would talk animatedly. She would compliment him and flatter his feelings. Nonetheless, she was perfectly content to bestow her smiles on some other admirer. She never looked as though she was in any way affected in anyway by love. She didn't look as though she cared for his love at all. I thought she was after the 'prestige' of having dated a Potter, as many girls had been before. _

_You might have thought me blind and thinking only of mercenary motives. I really wasn't, and I reiterate that I only had the best for my friend at heart. There was an opening for someone in his department to go and work in Germany. It was the perfect opportunity really for him to advance at his job and to simultaneously help him get away from Jana for some months. Hopefully by then her hold on him would have waned. _

_I (rather pointedly) suggested to Al that it would be the best for him if he took himself away from England and away from Jana. I showed him a flyer for that job and let him decide for himself. He was undecided upon the matter and then I told him that Jana didn't love him at all and only wanted to be associated with a Potter. That might have been harsh, but I believed it to be the truth. Al still sounded doubtful after that, but by the end of the long evening he had sent an owl applying for the job. Needless to say he got it. _

_Whatever I did for or against Al and Jana I believe it was the right thing to do. I only hope that the attachment was superficial so neither Al nor Jana is hurt too badly. I feel that my apologies are getting rather tiresome, but once again I am sorry to hurt anyone. You must know Jana better than me._

_Wickham is another matter entirely. _

_He's always had his way with both men and women, but the women especially. I don't doubt your general judgment on normal things, but something about his looks and slick charm allows him to tell absolute and malicious lies about everyone else._

_Wickham, even with his constant deceptions, may have informed you that his father was a pseudo-financial advisor to our family. Wickham elder had managed our family's monetary transactions without ever abusing our trust in allowing him full access to our gold and assets. _

_Jake Wickham and I did 'play' together as kids nearly every single day, but there was always a level of mistrust between us. Wickham (to even acknowledge him by a first name is a degradation) seemed to fit the typical mould for an unbearably cheeky child. He would deliberately knock vases over, damaged paintings and other pastimes that all parents hope their kids grow out of. After these devilish tricks he would blame me for them and I took these with as much forbearance as I could. I never said a word against him; because of a bizarre fear of exposing a guest that everyone made such pains to treat as an equal. _

_All I can say is that I am extremely glad that Wickham did not go to Hogwarts; or otherwise I would have never become friends with Al with such an oppressive presence always trailing me in some way or another. _

_Wickham did not improve much in his teenage years. By the time he and I were eighteen his father had died and my parents had 'retired' to the French Riviera, only coming back for the summer holidays to see Lola. All this might sound ridiculous to you, but even as young as I am now I can see the delights of an idyllic life of brunches with close friends. _

_Despite Wickham only being eighteen my father insisted on keeping with tradition and allowing an eighteen-year old to handle large amounts of gold and bonds. It was a whole six months before I realized he had pilfered nearly a hundred thousand galleons. I confronted him and when he refused to own up to the gaping holes left in the accounts I blasted open his safe to find only a thousand galleons. The rest he had gambled away._

_I suppose now that you can't reprimand me for telling him to leave immediately. I gave him a thousand of the recovered galleons, a bribe really to keep him away from our family. It turned out that this was a prequel to the events that occurred last summer. _

_You know, or at least you've heard of my sister Lola. She turns nineteen next (or rather this) year. _

_It was my twenty-first birthday, and I had stupidly decided to celebrate it with a raucous party. Wickham 'gate-crashed' the party but I was oblivious to it. He proceeded to buy my sister drinks which he had spiked. To put it bluntly Wickham took her to a rented room, robbed her and raped her. _

_Even in my post-party haze I noticed that she was missing. I found her, and though she was angry with herself for accepting drinks from a man who I had told her was dangerous I was angrier with myself for never giving her the full details. Wickham left without a trace, and my sister was deeply shaken. With the help of our parents and I she is recovering her shattered self-worth and confidence. I would love it if you would properly meet her, except I wouldn't presume to ask you anything more after asking you to read this letter._

_There: I have defended myself and I'm sorry yet again for my presumption last night. If you don't believe me there's always Legilimency or Veritaserum though it would be preferable if they weren't used. I will have left by the time you have received this. I can't stay where you are knowing that it was my own distant and apparently arrogant behaviour that drove you away. _

_Good luck with whatever happens._

_S.M._

He sealed the letter, still not satisfied that they could convey the depth of his emotions. Nonetheless he was much too tired and too stressed to do anything about it tonight. And he couldn't bear another awkward breakfast between them underneath the penetrating glare of his aunt. He called the house-elf in and told him to give the letter to 'Miss Weasley' tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. He was betting that she wasn't an early riser, judging on her sometimes stormy mood when she came to the office at 9:15, still tired although fifteen minutes late.

'Oh, and could you bring a goblet of sleeping potion?' he asked wearily.

Winky was used to bringing many a sleeping potion to the restless people inside the house but never Master Malfoy. He was always self-assured, clear and direct without any of that pity or fake, over-the-top friendliness that other people had in their tone of voice when addressing her. He had no qualms in asserting his authority as a superior when addressing an inferior like her.

But today he sounded, for lack of a better word, completely _shattered_, even considering that it was three in the morning.

While waiting for the potion to arrive he haphazardly summoned all his stuff into a large trunk and sealed it shut. The potion arrived and he gulped down a few hours worth of the blessed stuff. He would leave before breakfast tomorrow, not really thinking that if he left like that they might think he disappeared in some gruesome way in the night.

The sleep was a dreamless one.

Only in the following days of solitude would he realise that he had acted horribly towards her by snappishly replying at everything and acting like a general git who could only stare down meanly and act morose all the time.

_A/N: So long… 19 pages on Microsoft Word. So, so much mindless typing. Still, despite this mindless typing I quite like this chapter because it's emotional and describes just how misunderstood he is. His views are a bit hypocritical at several points in the story and I think those bits are especially funny._

_Half of the chapter just sat stagnant for the past two months because I was just way too busy to think about it. Such is the life of a student. Then the blessed holidays arrived and I finally had the time to do something about it and finish it. I absolutely love days where I'm free to do what I want, even if what I do is what my peers would call 'pathetic'._


	15. Rumination

_A/N: You bet that I would want to own Harry Potter and Pride and Prejudice!_

_**June 2028**_

The office was painfully quiet. With Malfoy it was already quiet because he barely said anything but without Malfoy there wasn't even someone to argue with and to complain to.

The New Year's eve of 2027 was probably the most surreal I had ever experienced, even more than the one where I was seventeen and had some kind of lame drinking contest with James Potter, who had so kindly informed me that his ill-gotten absinthe was perfectly safe to drink.

I had wanted to storm out in impatient anger but Malfoy decided to go all melodramatic on me and storm out after a kiss.

_The_ kiss was short but his lips had that desperate feeling of someone who had lost everything but still had one last kiss left to claim. _Surprisingly_, I didn't tell my mother or my father of these new developments in our _relationship_.

As I sat there I could still re-drown myself in that incandescent fury.

_He was always so inscrutable, staring quietly at everything and only making curt comments and staring furtively as though he was systematically judging everyone in the room by their outward appearance. He seemed only to be able to make negative comments, thinly veiled by cursory politeness. _

_And he couldn't even apply some emotional intelligence and be polite when his views were so hopelessly outdated, and not only that but they were biased, crazy, immoral and outright wrong! He had been insulting my blood, my heritage, my friends, my family and my intelligence! I could accept his horrid views but he had to force his views upon other people and interfere in their own affairs!_

_And he wasn't even attempting to look as though he was in any way compassionate! He forced Wickham out of a home and out of a job. Nice person Malfoy was._

_The night was cold and I saw him come, so frigid and awkward in trying to be eloquent in confessing his love. Insult after accidental insult poured as he started to peel away that thick layer of reserve. I sort of wish he hadn't gone crazy and confessed because now I felt like a Cruella de Vil for telling someone that 'loved' me to go and get lost because I honestly couldn't stand their presence._

_What really annoyed me, beyond Al and Jana and Wickham was the way he acted like he was so much better than everyone else. He made me feel as though I was a complete failure. _

_Better than being a pretentious git I supposed. Being a complete failure that is._

_He strutted away in anger, leaving me completely confused. We were stuck in this weird twilight zone between mutual loathing and… something more. I felt like I was some unwitting heroine in a story written by fate or destiny. Who knew that in the short space of two months my awkward, loud-mouthed, clumsy self could have inspired enough love in someone to make them beg for my hand in marriage?_

_Crazy._

_I lay down in the soft matting of grass, hoping to block everything on my mind and just stare at the stars. I wanted to lose myself in appreciation of the beauty of the night and not in the petty entanglements of human beings._

_The night was as beautiful as ever as I looked down upon rolling cliffs and hills fading into the distance. The stars glittered, glistered, glistened, seemed to pulse in the air like little beating hearts in the sky. It was cold but I wanted to feel the wind beat upon my raw skin and feel the elemental force of nature. I took off my sweater, already feeling the stuffiness of the mind and body being alleviated._

_Rocks with jagged edges were strewn about the place and little streams wriggled neatly upon the endless masses of green. The air smelt like it wasn't going to induce any involuntary coughing or sneezing. It smelt fresh, crisp and clean, if air ever could be pure and clean. _

_There was a kind of still and silent grandeur to it, a picturesque quality of beauty that resonated back to ancient ideals of perfection. Detached from any kind of thinking or reasoning it seemed almost heavenly. I thought that it was likely that us humans were hard-wired to find specific proportions and colours incredibly attractive in nature._

_I wanted to play God, or movie director at least, and put a delightfully soaring soundtrack behind the scene. It would have emphasized the dying, precious beauty of nature in our society and made the night seem like a shining jewel transcending the trivialities of our lives._

_At that moment life seemed weary. I felt weary and old, starting to keenly feel the burden of making choices. They could crush people. _

_I yearned for some relief from the endless cycles of torturous thoughts and unanswerable questions. _

_At least this philosophical musing had prevented me from thinking about Malfoy's face._

_Damn. I had jinxed myself._

_The heavens opened up and water fell from the sky._

_Each raindrop hitting my forehead felt like a drop of liquefied torture as I remembered his stabbing looks. Furious flashes of lightning lit up the whole panorama and I saw his haggard face lose itself to desperation. Each thunderclap resolved into his bitter voice and disgust and each violent quake of the earth reminded me of the building rumbling in the deep pit of my stomach as he touched me._

_I was frightened by the piercing honesty each droplet seemed to bring._

Then there was the letter. I had dragged myself in, barely registering the dull pops of Richard and Chantal's fireworks display while lost in the swirling pool of my own thoughts. I was sad that I had missed it because the next morning they proclaimed it to be brilliant. Richard had told me they had even used fireworks from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. But then again Richard and Chantal were both prone to excessive exaggeration and hyperbole.

It was becoming my custom to refer to Richard and Chantal in a clump in my thoughts. They were an 'item' now and they both told me of how that New Year's Eve 'party' of theirs was a great bonding experience. I didn't really see how two people talking, laughing, eating and drinking constituted a party but in their eyes it was brilliant. I didn't really see how drinking some alcohol was a great bonding experience either unless you were a bunch of rowdy and slightly rude seventh-year guys from Hogwarts but apparently it was.

Wasn't it ironic that the New Year's Eve brought those two so much romantic bliss but Malfoy and I the deathblow to any kind of happy relationship? It was the beginning for them but the end for us, if I could presume that there ever was a beginning of an 'us'.

_I was shivering, shaking and wet and was completely disregarding the dirty water dripping onto the gleaming floor as I headed back to my room. His _'oh, woe is me' _face had the amazing power of making me feel sorry for him. But then I remembered his elitism, out-dated snobbery and the general air of abominable pride in his stride. And the fact that he was an interfering git who felt the need to cut down any tall poppy that was going to infringe upon his brilliance and superiority._

_I had a shower and practically fell upon my bed into a tumultuous slumber. I had a dream, a dream of Malfoy coming upon me and pushing me down that cliff in cold-blooded revenge._

_I woke up to find a letter. I peeled open the soft cream envelope, made up of woven fibres of bleached wood pulp. The parchment inside was no less spectacular, similar in quality to the envelope. Using my skills of logical deduction I deduced that it wasn't a piece of mass-produced, grainy parchment. I wasn't used to seeing such heavy, evidently high-quality parchment being used. I couldn't see the ink through it, partly because I was so preoccupied with the quality of it but also because it was so thick._

_The script was flowing and calligraphic in style. On the other had mine was absolute rubbish. There could only have been one person who wrote the letter: Malfoy._

_I settled down to read it, hoping to find some explanations and justification for his behaviour. I needed some kind of closure to that whole messy ordeal._

Through my bleary, nine-o'clock eyes I read through the letter. The headache of last night had returned as I pondered each phrase and thought of how long he had to spend to make up all the thoroughly interesting, sensationalist tripe. He _had_ to have made it all up, didn't he?

…

Or was I wrong?

…

It turned out that even _I _could be wrong. I may not have fully forgiven him his crime against Al and Jana but I could see his evident concern for Al's wellbeing. He seemed to care.

And Jana was fading out of my life now. She hadn't sent me any letters and I couldn't go and surprise her with a visit because for the life of me I could not remember where her apartment was. I had crashed into her again, knocking the papers right out of her hand, a moment of _déjà vu_. Seeing her I was very excited and wanted to hear how her life had been since Al had 'run away'. She made a greeting, looking quite uncomfortable and before I could ask her to go somewhere that evening she said she was busy and bogged down by paperwork.

I thought she wanted to avoid me because I was the one who accidentally introduced her to Al, who was going to be back in England in a matter of days. And I was probably right on this matter.

I hoped that I was right in thinking that Jana was a sweet girl who wasn't interested in hurting Al. Because I was so wrong about Wickham.

Wickham, Wickham. He was always so charming with all the right lines and the right moves. Maybe I could have seen through his winking and plaintive statement. In hindsight it didn't seem right that he would tell me all about Malfoy and himself on our second meeting. His replies were always so quick and perfect in my mind. Now they struck me as being awfully rehearsed.

It turned out that he as a fully-fledged criminal, hell-bent on avenging himself against the Malfoys and making his money by blatantly abusing a relationship of trust. He _used_ Lola like some inflatable doll. I liked Lola already.

The only way he knew how to survive was to hurt people. Despicable really.

That night I couldn't go to sleep. I wriggled and shifted restlessly in the bed, clutching on the sheets as a buoy in the violent ocean of my emotions. I was so _frustrated_ with my utter incompetence! I had judged everyone through such a narrow, intolerant and biased prism based solely upon fleeting impressions I formed in all the wrong places!

I had completely discredited Malfoy just because he was quiet and made conservative remarks. I hated him just because he saw the world in the different way and made different choices. I liked Wickham just because he had flattered my vanity and me. He had showered me with every compliment that I wanted to hear.

I was so sure of myself. I judged everyone by stereotyping them. I thought I was so smart, intelligent and formidable in my intellectual capabilities! I had been so confident that I was the wise one and everyone else was deluded and delusional! I couldn't stand back and admit that I was wrong without being sarcastic and secretly believing I was still right. I was intolerant of any other opposing view. I _hated_ him solely because everyone else _liked _him and I _hated_ him because he was the epitome of the handsome, intelligent, creative, wealthy, brooding, slightly Byronic man that all the girls coveted.

Malfoy made me feel like a fool because I _was _a fool.

A house-elf had told us of Malfoy's dramatic departure at breakfast on New Year's Day and Kareena Burke was seriously displeased. It was an understatement actually and she was so red in the face that she might have exploded. I wish she had. She stared at me in such an awful way that I thought that she actually _knew_ that I was the reason for Malfoy's flight. I tried to look completely innocent even though I knew that I was the reason for him leaving. I may have even batted my eyelashes in my desperation to divert her attention.

I left two days after. Those two days were one of my best as Richard, Chantal and I talked, laughed and made merry on the near-deserted estate. The two remaining Burkes were holed up together inside, and Chantal was pretending less and less to care about the "_important financial matters of the Burke estate_".

I came back to work a week later after spending a relaxing week with family. They were all blessedly quiet and unquestioning of my harried appearance and drifting mind. I don't remember ever using up as many notebooks as I did in that week as I wrote and drew to my heart's content. I don't remember ever reading through quite as many books as I did that week. I stayed up at night, reading _One Hundred Years of Magic _and _The Adventures of Harry Potter _by starlight and moonlight instead of by the electric lights of my Muggle apartment.

I walked in and the office was smaller and only had _one_ desk and _one _chair. Why? What happened to Malfoy? I asked around and heard nothing. I ended up asking one of my superiors and I heard that he was allowed to work from home due to his "_continued efficiency, punctuality, dedication and persistence in clearing departmental papers_". In other words they were allowing him to slack off and take a break. It was probably temporary. They couldn't afford to hire someone who didn't actually turn up to work.

The Ministry was becoming so leisurely and 'worker-friendly'. There were so many benefits and worker protection agreements. Our livelihood was basically guaranteed and our rights were protected. I didn't like to be molly-coddled but it was nice to know that the Ministry no longer treated us like slaves who could be whipped into subservience and receiving ridiculously low pay.

I guess it was so they could attract more people to join the bureaucracy, which was not so popular after the War because of the people's disillusionment with something that was such a rubbish institution in a time where people needed decisive leadership and not propaganda and cowardice.

Six months past and it was summer.

It was horribly lonely and I started to crave companionship, even _his _companionship, in that cramped compartment with only a charmed weather window for company. They should have installed talking portraits instead to alleviate our boredom.

This new culture of making a job as pleasant as leisure was primarily a good thing in my eyes. I would get yet another holiday, a summer one, reminiscent of my days at Hogwarts where we had set holiday times for each season.

I finished at six o'clock and slammed the door shut with satisfaction.

I wasn't going to see it for a whole _three_ weeks.

_Adiós_, dear office.

***

Lily Luna Potter had accused me of being a cultural philistine.

'I beg to differ!' I shouted.

'Of course you are, Miss-"_I-don't-care-about-overpriced-crap-art-or-stupid-fashion-or-pompous-castles_".'

Lily was positively _unbearable_.

'I do read books, you know!' I replied indignantly. 'And I like to look at pretty paintings and not these post-modernist squiggles that look like something that even my four year-old self could draw. And I appreciate having a roof over my head and wearing some form of fabric to keep myself warm.'

She laughed wildly, and muttered something wicked under her breath.

Lily had this amazing quality of making everyone in her presence feel welcome. At times her smile was too big for her face and her teeth too big for her mouth. She seemed to _leak_ warmth and congeniality, for lack of a better word. She was a person who could cheer you up after you had fallen a few hundred feet off your broom and your whole family murdered. That's why she was a healer at St. Mungo's. She could be directly linked to the falling mortality rates at the hospital because her unwavering optimism had given several patients the sudden will to live.

Her laughter reverberated off walls and filled anyone within a fifty-foot radius with a warm, mushy feeling inside followed by an irrational urge to burst into maniacal laughter as well.

She could get away with teasing people because the aura she exuded was one of utmost kindness and generosity. You couldn't possibly _hate_ her.

At that moment however I did honestly hate her for painting me as some cruel savage without any knowledge whatsoever.

'Yes, but you don't appreciate the finer things in life! One day you'll want to buy some good art or have some gourmet food instead of the pizza that I hear you have once a week! You do know pizza is bad for you, don't you?'

Her face took on a look of concern for my general health and wellbeing. She had changed from being a sly fox in one moment into a caring mother figure.

'Heaven forbid that I eat nice food _once a week_! And you were the one telling me that I might like to have _finer things in life_.'

'Red wine is good for you,' she cheekily shot back at me, almost instantaneously.

'You are annoying you know. I can't believe I agreed to spend two of my precious weeks of freedom on a holiday _with you_,' I shouted, trying to sound exasperated at her cheekiness but actually burst into a smile.

'You know you love me.'

'No.'

'Good.'

Lily was the self-styled snob out of all my cousins. She had tagged along with the Delacour-Weasleys to France and could speak French, Italian and German fluently. Well, I thought she could speak French, Italian and German fluently because she could jabber away in it to me as a demonstration of her linguistic powers. She might have just been talking gibberish however because I didn't know a word of any of those languages.

She could also go into raptures about Gothic architecture and Impressionist art. I thought she could have become a freelance (note the euphemism for starving) artist but then I realized she couldn't have stood the solitude of such a position. She couldn't shower love upon someone if she was holed up in a room shooting paint with her wand at a canvas.

She had already dragged me to Buckingham Palace for seemingly no reason at all. I _lived _in London and I had seen it before. Why did I want to go there to see the art and the big stone building of a thing? Though I had to admit that the guards with their outdated red military coats and ridiculous black things atop their head were ridiculously funny.

We had a whirlwind trip around nearly all of England and Scotland. Lily would wake me up at absurdly early hours and grasp my wrist. She had already forced me to pack everything I owned into a small handbag with an Extension charm on it. She would then apparate to all these weird and wonderful places with imposing mansions and all the neatly cultivated greenery that England was famous for. We had visited Chatsworth and all these amazingly old places with so much pomp and circumstance. We visited amazing feats of magical architecture like the Leaning Tower of Essex and she even got me to try haggis in one of the little poky inns we stayed in in the first few nights.

Who would have thought that she was two years younger than me, the way she was acting in carting me about all over the place?

I had to grudgingly admit that it was quite fun to have her lively commentary on everything we saw and everything that I did. She was great company, kept me laughing endlessly and even prevented me from wanting to kill myself early in the morning.

Today Lily whisked me away to a 'mystery destination'. It was our custom for me to ask her where we were going and for her to answer but she didn't tell me and instead put a finger to her coy smile.

I felt the now familiar compression overtake me. Where could Lily be taking me?

A wrought-iron gate greeted me, swinging open when I took a gingerly step forward. I looked at Lily to confirm this wasn't some kind of trap and in return I received a look that told me to go on.

There was a deadly straight path of glaring white pebbles and I walked along it, marveling at the green grass bursting with exotic colours, exotic flowers and exotic plants. There was a pair of two white marble fountains set on each side of the evenly partitioned garden. We crossed the stone bridge over the stream and then the pebble path started to deviate from its straight course.

The sunlight made all the plants look like they were sparkling diamonds and the water looked like a string of pale sapphire. The air smelled of fragrant flowers but (thankfully) I was yet to suffer a sudden bout of hay fever and sneeze.

This horticultural heaven seemed to stretch out to infinity. More marble statues were liberally peppered across the whole place and the large, elegant trees had quaint wooden benches around their trunk, taking advantage of the shade provided by monstrous canopies.

We reached a fork in the path and Lily gently nudged me towards the left side. I looked away from the blossoming wilderness to adjust the strap of my sandal. I then looked forward to see a striking stone building that seemed to shine in the sunlight like every flower in the garden.

It was absolutely _monumental_.

Lily saw my jaw drop and her enigmatic smile widened.

'Welcome to Malfoy Manor.'

That was _not _Lily's voice.

With great foreboding I lifted my gaze up to the familiar face of the familiar voice.

_He_ was there in a dripping shirt, cutely messed up hair, a blush threatening to spread all over his body and an awkward smile that begged me to not be angry with him.

_A/N: Whoa, I wrote that in a few hours of furious typing. So that probably means it's riddled with typos I didn't manage to pick up. The chronology of it might be a bit confusing because I jump from historical past tense to immediate past tense but it should still make sense._


	16. What are the odds?

_Malfoy_ was there in a dripping shirt, cutely messed up hair, a blush threatening to spread all over his body and an awkward smile that begged me to not be angry with him.

I sincerely wished that it were some weird, freaky coincidence that led to me meeting Malfoy, no less soaked and _at his mansion_. But it was _his _home, so he was at perfect liberty to live where he wanted. That was what I should have expected if I let Lily drag me about the country, visiting random places.

I don't think Lily had planned it just to spite and humiliate me. She didn't even know that Malfoy and I had a tumultuous history together and would probably dissolve into piles of embarrassment and guilt when we met. She knew I hated him though, struggling with trying to work with him. She should have known that I thought he was the most annoying person alive, considering the fact that she had actually learnt a sympathetic ear when I complained about him to her. Of course, there was always the highly likely possibility that she had nodded dully, secretly hoping that I would decide to shut up soon.

And Lily wouldn't conspire with Malfoy, and Malfoy wouldn't conspire with Lily even if he secretly desired to see me. It would cause himself a pain, and a _normal_ person wouldn't want that, let alone a Slytherin and a Malfoy to boot.

I avoided his eye, avoiding his eyes and instead determinedly looking at the imposing building before me, noting the elegantly flared columns and the delicately engraved sandstone that seemed to flow around edges. Each detail seemed so tiny and precious yet came together to form this huge building that could steal my eyes from Malfoy.

Not that that meant anything, due to the sheer dedication in which I tried to avoid even looking at his face or hearing his voice. I don't think I even tried so hard on my N.E.W.T's. But I had to say that the incentive for staying away from Malfoy was greater than in failing school and being kicked out of the house by my mum's harsh, bitter and wailing cries of having failed as a parent.

The incentive to not look at his face was to prevent myself from feeling a tidal wave of pain and guilt whenever I remembered how unfairly I had judged him, shamed him and humiliated him just because I thought I was so right and so perfect with my quick judgments and cutting, decisive comments.

I couldn't admit that I had misunderstood everything, failing to look at it from the other side of the fence.

And for all this assumed superiority arose mistakes that I didn't have to pay at all (well, only in endless self-recrimination). It was _he _who suffered from those never-ending, rash insults.

That was if he cared about what I said anymore. He couldn't _possibly _care about me after I was so cowardly I didn't even dare send him an owl or even _look at his face_. He couldn't possibly care about that cheeky girl who made rude comments about everything and everyone, couldn't possibly still admire her misguided wit.

He couldn't possibly _like _her after all of that? Not me?

Dare I even say, no think, love –

'Rose, the commonly accepted convention is to reply when someone asks how you are. Not that you would ever go by the convention but you should really save this guy from some embarrassment,' Lily said cheerfully.

I looked up at Lily and mumbled a 'fine'.

'Are you some shy little schoolgirl? Keep some eye contact with him, will you?'

'Lily, will you stop berating me like you're my mother? And I am _not _avoiding eye contact with anyone.'

Just to prove my point and spite her I looked up at him, and saw him frown momentarily. I had gotten so used to seeing those thin lips upturned in a permanently upturned in a thoughtful frown, the corresponding pinched eyebrows and the rigid arms that stuck to the sides.

I was so used to this face that whenever I saw him smile it always had the feel of a super villain's evil smile and cackle, accompanied by the mandatory '_muaha-ha_'.

He was smiling now, a hopeful smile with eyebrows that were not unnaturally scrunched. The hair, instead of being gelled back with that immovable side parting was everywhere, some flying about in spikes and some matted down on the forehead. The infamous side parting was gone.

And that made him look less of a Malfoy and more like a _normal human_. The grey eyes didn't look like a charmed pebble ready to explode with annoyance. They looked like some cheerful, harmless gobstoppers that changed colours and bounced around like a little Pygmy Puff.

I could feel myself blush intensely. I could feel pulsating waves of heat and embarrassment run down my face, looking like waves of bright red paint being poured over me.

'Rose, how have your six months been?' he asked, probably wondering why I suddenly resembled a tomato.

'I didn't know we were on a first-name basis,' I replied before the filter between my mouth and mind kicked in.

Really. He had only called me by my first name when he was trying to be hopelessly polite (but failing atrociously) or lost in some brooding romantic passion. It was never during an actual non-antagonistic conversation that an exchange of first names occurred. We had never actually achieved that level of trust, but attained a kind of mutual hatred that matured over time to something that seemed like regret, and pain.

'Oh, I'm sorry, really, did I –

He looked very much embarrassed, exercising his facial muscles as he fumbled around for words. I don't think he expected me to rebuke him for trying to be nice to me, but I really wasn't trying to insult him, to hurt him! I was just surprised.

Honestly. Despite my propensity to abusing him I really was determined to turn a new leaf over and clear the score. I was going to admit to myself that I was in the wrong for making so many assumptions about him with a hardly logical basis, and was hoping that he would understand that all the animosity between us was now dissolved.

'_No_, it was all my fault really, being too brusque and –

It was at this point that I dropped my clutch, trying much too hard to feign ease by moving my arms about in a 'relaxed' way, and anticipated the dull _thud _of a few week's worth of luggage disarrange itself and cause general havoc.

Lily always insisted upon travelling light, to the point of using a charm to enlarge a bag without it becoming any larger or heavier. I constantly chided her about the peculiar looks Muggles gave her as we turned up to one of those rarefied quaint country inns and she engaged in overdone, pleasant conversation about a rural tour around England. They always thought us weird for our lack of luggage and Lily's constant state of cheerfulness. They were always nice anyhow, and thought us peculiar only in the best sense of the world. Kind of like that Luna Lovegood that dad mentioned in a derisive tone of voice only to be rebuked by mum.

I watched the faded black clutch spin about in the air, with the golden clasp glinting in the sunlight like a snitch waiting to be caught. Time seemed to slow as I attempted to re-enter the Quidditch element and view every motion as clear as if they were happening twice as slow as they actually were. I reached out, tips poised to grasp around the fabric worn soft by years of careless abuse. I could feel it slip past, like water running past my fingers. And then I missed, closing my fingers to late to stop it from continuing its downward trajectory.

Right after I felt the cool fabric slip past my finger I felt the light touch of _another_ finger brush against my wrist.

It was _his _finger, against my flesh and the finger was without any nervous tic that made it want to rip my flesh to shreds. Or it might have just been a feather, and the finger a product of the surrealism caused by the heat and the fact that he was there in a white t-shirt, nearly sheer from the water and slightly too small to do _anyone _good. If it clung to him in such a revealing way it had to limit his arm mobility, right? And hopefully cut off blood circulation so he would form a blood clot and collapse to the floor to his death so I wouldn't have to embarrass myself again over _him_.

Any possibility of a stray bird's feather tickling me dissolved as I saw _Malfoy_, bending down on one knee and holding the clutch out for me to take. It was a bit of a chauvinistic gesture, like a courtier helping the highborn damsel-in-distress, but it was a sweet gesture anyhow.

The lady took the clutch, and the gentleman regained his full height and dignity. Awkward mumbled '_thanks_' and _'you're welcome_'s occurred; instead of the expected haughty and dismissive glances that one might have expected the lady and gentleman to exchange in this case.

Ironically the black clutch had a red rose on it.

He was the first one to recover, and to continue acting as though nothing had occurred. I stood there, dumbfounded and now holding my clutch with a death grip to prevent any repeats of that awkward incident.

'So, I take it that you wanted to come here to visit the museum?'

He was still talking to Lily, but kept throwing occasional glances at me. I was still silent and embarrassed simply by the thought of _thinking _about him. And if I was as red as a tomato before I had no idea how red my face was. Like blood?

'Yes,' Lily said, in her typical amiable way. 'It might not be as old as some others we've been to but it's definitely got its fair share of history.'

Malfoy himself turned slightly red and bowed his head down, but for completely different reasons.

'Especially about the War. There are a quite a few relics from Voldemort's time here,' he replied, actually looking ashamed for the first time in our acquaintance.

The sun was starting to get absurdly hot, and I could feel my shoulders scorching. The tank top and shorts were probably not the best choice, considering the fact that peeling skin of my shoulders was both painful and aesthetically unpleasing. The wooden doors, though foreboding due to the dark black colour, looked welcome. There had to be some kind of climate control charm inside? It would be barbaric to dash my hopes of a cool sanctuary. Simply cruel.

'Can we go in now?' I said tiredly. 'Please?'

Lily turned around to look at me with an admonishing glare.

'You are sounding particularly like an immature kid today, with your irritable mood and whining. But luckily for you we're going to go in soon. Your face does look _very red_, so you should be glad.'

She gave me a very exaggerated wink, definitely seen by Malfoy, who was standing in front of us both. I would swear that it was a slightly amused grin, although he was smiling so much it was hard to tell exactly what he was feeling behind all those smiles.

Lily never lost an opportunity to make fun of me and make me feel as uncomfortable as possible. In her defence I also never lost an opportunity to tease her about everyone (including that awkward incident with the crazy guy who swallowed a litre of love potion). It was a Weasley cousinly pact.

'I'll show you around. Come in.'

He turned around, went up the stairs and touched the annulus, which caused the door to open up without any extra force applied. A cool breeze blew from inside to us poor unfortunates on the outside and then I suddenly felt cold and uncomfortable.

Physically it was refreshing but the breeze had caused the shirt to stick even closer to his torso. Excellent. Now I had to try even harder not to stare at this

'Are you sure you don't want to dry yourself out first?' I blurted out.

Until now neither Lily nor I had mentioned Malfoy's wet shirt in the conversation. His face turned one shade darker, and he tucked a wet strand of hair behind his ear.

He always tucked some hair behind his ear when he was nervous about something, and blinked a lot until his translucent eyelashes looked like beating wings of a butterfly.

Funny how I noticed that. I must've been watching him _very _carefully.

'Um… It was, err… I spilt some water over myself. A glass of water, um, you know?' he said, with an uncertain expression on his face, and an exaggerated throw of the hand intended to look careless.

If the nervous blinking and constant hair rearrangements didn't give away his unease in the situation the constant use of words such as '_um_' gave it away.

It was unprecedented for him to be unsure about what he was saying. Or at least it was the first _recorded_ instance _ever_ of Scorpius Malfoy using the word '_err_' in a sentence. And nor was the phrase '_you know_' ever cobbled to the end of one of _his _sentences. He was always so sure of himself that he never needed to seek the approval of others in such a simple phrase containing only a pronoun and a verb.

"_**There have been various concerns for the mental wellbeing of Scorpius Malfoy. Last week he was recorded using '**_**um**_**' in a sentence by a visitor to the Manor. Said R. Weasley, '**_**if Malfoy is even showing one iota of doubt in his judgments, that must mean that he's losing his tenacious, tyrannical grip on every single issue that has occurred ever. People should be seriously worried that he's not trying to ruin their lives because that means that he's going mad, and if he's going mad that must mean the world is descending into doom'."**

I laughed at my own mock magazine article, despite it being the height of uncoolness to laugh at one's own humour. It was a stupid article, with a stupid subject irrelevant to anything in the world. Only tabloids (and my myself) could care about such a ridiculous thing.

Lily and Malfoy were both staring at me, still silently shaking from irrational laughter. Judging from their identical expressions of shock and incredulity (not to mention the raised eyebrows that threatened to disappear into their hairline) they thought I was a bit crazy, a tad mentally unstable this morning. Which I was.

Lily, being one of the few sane people left out of everyone I knew, took the initiative of drying his hair and clothing out of the water. He thanked her profusely. She beamed happily.

She was always happy when she helped others. She seemed to glow, the sunlight around her hair forming this little ring of such intensity that it looked like a halo given by God to those who did a favour without selfishly expecting something to be repaid.

Malfoy also smiled back happily at her, and his blonde hair shone like a halo in the sunlight too.

Great. I was the just the boring, temperamental, moaning, non-angelic one in the frumpy yellow thing and boring denim shorts.

Did I mention that Lily was wearing a shapely white cotton sundress cinched at the waist and the hem at knee-level? It yet again reaffirmed the idea that I was completely inferior to her.

I spent more time sullenly staring at them both until Malfoy ushered us into the blessedly cool building.

The building was actually quite tasteful in its elegance and opulence instead of completely flash and non-functional. The Malfoy's had obviously inherited the better interior decoration skills. And maybe the better looks.

Malfoy still looked quite handsome in the white t-shirt and army-green shorts. Much less formal than the three-piece suit ensembles paired with conservative ties that still managed to bring out the colour of his eyes. Still, the ties weren't necessary to bring the light grey of his eyes out. The jaw was angular, the face skinny and the arms may have even been considered 'scrawny' were it not for the prominent nose and decisive movements.

I might have even ventured to say there was an 'inherent superiority' etched in all his features. Though he didn't act as though we were his subjects and he the superior anymore.

Lily decided to run off and look at the family tapestry, but I thought it was a complete waste of time. Why would one stare at a family tree when one already knew that every pureblood was interconnected with one another through intermarriage? Why would one bother to spend an afternoon staring at the nothingness of letters strung together to create a paltry identity?

The light was coming in, bouncing off the assorted collection of shiny metal things. The window frame was made of wood, with the gold paint peeling off. Or possibly it was gold leaf, and if it was peeling off it was just a testament to how old the building was.

She busied herself with reading all the dull and unmoving captions as I darted my way across the room to a chair. It was a fine skill to be able to weed out a piece of furniture placed for the convenience of any reluctant museum-goers, and not some fragile chair that also happened to be valued as a 'window to a new world'. Why would you want a window to a different world anyone? This world was magical enough itself.

As I sat down, preparing to be bored out of mind and trying my hardest not to think about Malfoy he decided to take a seat in the chair next to me. It was as though I was _volunteering _for his company. Was I shooting him come-hither looks, or looking so desperately troubled to be on his property that he felt the need to stoop down and rescue me from my stupidity?

One wouldn't need to be blessed with the gift of sight to notice how awkward our situation was. Previously Lily was there, acting as a sort of insulator and muffler to our varied emotions. But now we were next to one another as she was too engrossed examining ancient marvels.

What does one say to a man that one proposed to her, and loved her? Would it be too late to redeem herself from looking like a fool in her blatant idiocy? Does she act impartial to the obvious charms, or does she treat him with the same distance and coldness that he once adopted towards her.

Stereotypical cliché would dictate that he would start the discourse on this matter, but I didn't set much store by those magnanimously unimportant matters because it was common courtesy that I would acknowledge a man that I enjoyed slandering and insulting, and hence acknowledge my fallacy in reasoning.

How could I, who prided myself on my intelligence and clear-headed thinking possibly be so wrong about him? To be sure, it was a blow to my ego to think that my intellect was sorely lacking, but the morals and compassion? That was a much deeper blow.

Yet, that whole marriage debacle and ensuing mess would have been a much more violent blow to his ego. Nothing is more painful than to be hated by the one you loved, as many people and books assured me of. My common sense told me that as well, but I had learnt to treat my assumptions based upon quick turns of thinking with great care.

I, who was too much of a coward to reply to his brilliantly honest letter, would make amends and match him in his courage in admitting that I was completely and utterly wrong about him. And I would go one better, by admitting it to his face. He would see the deep facial creases I had formed by spending many hours thinking about him, and he would see the wrinkles of repentance marring my face.

It had probably cost him a few (make that many) hours of thought and many sheets of expensive paper to write me that letter, not to mention the pain of tugging out such deep-seated, personal and violent emotions that I had disdained as superficial and even delusional.

I turned around to face him, folding my hands in my lap as a sign of humility.

'I don't think I need to say it, but I truly am sorry,' I said, hopefully conveying to him how much my feelings for him had changed. Still non-romantic feelings of course.

He looked back, to make sure that I wasn't teasing him or mocking him with some sarcasm.

'It's awkward I know and it was all my fault for having even started it in the first place,' he said, bowing his head down.

'Are you serious? I'm the one who should be sorry for even bringing up the topic again,' I shouted in incredulity. He usually avoided taking the blame for anything, even when it was his fault and now _he _was taking the blame for something that wasn't his fault.

'We should start afresh.'

'Yes, we were both fools in our own way and hopefully we won't stuff it up so bad the second time around,' I said, in what was best described as wistfully.

'Stuff what up?' he asked, looking up at me for the first time in the conversation.

'Our relationship,' I replied without really thinking about any further meanings that I was implying beyond an obvious friendship. Of course, I realized soon enough what it sounded like. 'In a purely platonic way,' I quickly added.

He stayed silent, but in a non-offensive contemplative way that was so different to his usual disdainful, silent dismissal. He wrapped some hair around a thin finger with casually crossed legs and I couldn't help but stare.

'I think we should lay some ground rules down. For one, insults should be made obvious instead of veiled with some ingenious word play,' I said in a cheeky voice, just trying to break the silence and to stop me staring at his torso for long enough.

We smiled and we spent many pleasurable minutes poking fun at each other, all the while managing to avoid any uncomfortable matters. We laughed together, at each other's lame jokes and I genuinely thought that I could have a conversation with him where he didn't, not even once, assert any kind of superiority. We talked back at one another, and I never felt the need to punch him in the face for an irritatingly righteous tone of voice.

As the light of a new day poured in, and bathed us both in a warm and happy yellow glow I realized that there was a chance for a new beginning where we weren't determined to best each other in our animosity.

'A new beginning?' I asked after the flow of our conversation had trickled down to nothing.

'Yes,' he replied, smiling.

We shook hands with each other. His shake was a friendly and strong one, yet not one of the bone-crushing ones. We smiled at each other again and then we both looked out of the window to see a magnificent flock of seagulls flap past in a flurry of white.

_A/N: Hard chapter to write. Yet again the monster of writer's block reared its ugly head, and once again I decided to prioritise many other things in front of writing this. _


	17. A Room with a View

'_Well, I suppose we'll just be going now. I mean, it's been pleasant and all but we must be getting along now. We've got places to go.'_

'_What places, I ask you Rose? We've got nothing planned but a trip to the seaside and you know very well that can be postponed, and I know that you absolutely hate being baked by some hot pebbles and sand on a ridiculously hot day like this.'_

'_Shut up, Lily, and stop being annoying!'_

'_Shut up, Rose, and stop being irrational!'_

'_Well… I'd love to explore the grounds more, but we'd be intruding upon your privacy.'_

'_You're perfectly free to stay, you know, but you should stop talking as though I'm not present at all.'_

'_Are we? We promise not to throw any objects at any houses, or defile your vegetation with anything other than a light, bouncy and reverent step.'_

'_Once again, you are my guests and perfectly free to stay the night, and not to mention I grant you the exceptional privilege of walking on the grass without feeling any undue and simply bizarre respect for it.'_

'_We are your guests? Absolutely chuffing. But however much I want to stay here we must consult Lily, the almighty ruler and controller of us all.'_

'_I would be absolutely delighted if I could go in to the actual manor and see the amazing, amazing architecture that takes its motifs from so many eras! For instance – _

'_I suppose that's a yes. But I'm afraid that we might have to stay quite a while, to satisfy Lily's thirst to unravel the supposedly interesting aspects of life.'_

'_The house is open to you.'_

'_Shouldn't that be your house?'_

'_No, of course not, unless my parents unexpectedly dropped dead in the near future.'_

'_Then I think Rose and I can stay for a night or two.'_

'_Brilliant, though you may have to stay for longer to meet my sister, Lola. She's been dying to meet you, Rose.'_

'_Really? I'm surprised she even know my name.'_

'_Would you like to come in now, away from the heat?'_

'_Yes, if it's just so Rose can shut up and stop embarrassing yourself in front of you. I really do think the heat's gotten to her today, and she's crazier than usual.'_

So, we were now guests of Malfoy, no _Scor_, as he had insisted upon me calling him by something rather more personal than a last name. I guess it was fair, because I had insisted upon him calling me Rose, but then again my name wasn't so bizarre and wacky.

He had been so courteous and unpretentious and I thought that this change was something _more_ than temporary; something lasting that would eventually fully eradicate that mental image of a stuck-up Malfoy in my mind, and replace it with a laughing, _nice_ face.

Nice is such an underrated word. I mean, isn't it meant to be delightful when someone tells you that you are kind and care about others? Though I certainly want to be called nice in conjunction with something quite more substantial, unlike someone like Jana.

I hadn't thought about her for such a long time. Who, in my situation, could? She was just a peripheral acquaintance now; someone whom I thought was absolutely delightful and _nice_ but was ruined in my mind by a weakness of character. She needed to be more like Lily, who despite being delightfully spirited and witty, managed to be nice.

He was smiling, with a bounce in his step and so _charming_ in his way of talking and moving. But although I thought he wasn't _evil_ but had he the bravery to go and talk to Al (who had returned back to the land of England) and tell him that he was deliberately trying to separate Jana from him? Maybe Jana wasn't perfect for him, but it would be wrong for him to say nothing about his sneaky plans.

I could _nearly_ fully forgive him though. He had justification for his actions I suppose.

The mansion was reached, and I marveled at how the huge, dark edifice managed to look romantic (in the great 19th century artistic sense of the word, rather than the light fluffy kind) and broodingly beautiful without looking frightening, foreboding and the kind of place where people were routinely murdered.

It was rather like _him _really: a slightly intimidating and brooding exterior, but less scary on the inside despite all appearances and rumours.

Here we were then.

Sometimes I couldn't believe my luck, or maybe misfortune. It was fortunate to see her lovely face again, unfortunate that it was so damn awkward, fortunate that I got the heaven-given opportunity to sit in a small room with her all day for a month and unfortunate that I'd even met her because she happened to hate me.

These thoughts were rather too deep and cyclical for the current light and happy mood of the walk, so I tried to push them out of my mind and focus on how wonderful the present was.

'_The present is named so, because the present is a present, a gift,_' my dad once said.

And for once, I was trying to head that advice instead of ruminating over the past or hypothesizing the future.

We were walking across a huge field of _really _green grass and an equally blue sky. The sun made everything look yellow and happy. The curved trees lent the otherwise boring field a benevolent character, the kind of gnarled benevolence of a fairytale grandmother, who never failed in showing kindness and biscuit-baking prowess.

The air, blissfully, had cooled down to a temperature which I was fairly sure wouldn't bake the insides of my guests, or my insides for that matter. It (the air that is) smelt flowery and felt light and dry. The fluffy clouds had bunched together to form interesting shapes. The long grass managed to be tingly and ticklish without being downright painful and irritating.

I could have easily been forgiven for falling in love with her. She was absolutely perfect for me, the best and possibly only fit to my jigsaw piece. And even if I wasn't who I was, even if my jigsaw piece had changed and hers hadn't, I still think that she would have become Mrs. Malfoy, or at least offered the opportunity for her to become so.

The light was dancing in her red hair, bringing out highlights of blonde and brown. The eyelashes were constantly fluttering like flapping butterflies, trying to stop the sun from impending her vision. The feet were light of step and her arms swung around with the look of familiarity and ease in motion. The lips were a blur of luscious red as she talked and talked, and constantly gesticulated with decisive slices through the air with her right hand. Her speech was a melodious blur. Her teeth were sparkly white. Chocolate eyes. Carved face. Polysyllabic. Loquacious. Dimples. Feminine. Strong. Soft.

Perfect.

The brambles completely disappeared from view, and instead my home towered overhead. I led them in, taking the opportunity to guide her by discreetly wrapping my arm around her shoulders as she gaped at the high ceilings and the labyrinth of corridors that led away from the mammoth atrium.

I had a vague remembrance of him gently pushing me towards a room while I numbingly accepted his interference. In fact, I wasn't even feeling controlled or violated by him dragging me somewhere (it might have been a dungeon, for all I knew), but somehow felt comfortable and for once happy that I didn't have to go around dictating everything.

It was brilliant to be on holiday and not having to do anything, wasn't it?

We walked, and I was surprised as the tastefully sumptuous interiors of polished wood and the elegant hints of gold and silver given by ever-shiny antique stands and candelabras. The whole place felt airy and the roofs non-existent, as though they were melded into one entity with the sky.

'It's quite wonderful, isn't it?' he said very happily.

'Yeah.'

And for once I didn't bother to elaborate on that sentiment, didn't bother to inject any sarcasm or tack some kind of witty comment to my reply to throw back at Malfoy.

We both sort of forgot about poor Lily, who was trailing behind us and obviously feeling slightly excluded. Though the corridor was wide enough to easily admit the width of _30_ people let alone the three of us I think that Lily felt bad about disrupting the obvious rapport that he and I had formed.

If she did interfere, she would indeed feel very bad, and even slightly bruised and battered. _Scor_ and I were comfortable and joyful and _happy_ in the light of this new start! We didn't want to be disturbed by Lily; we didn't want the balloons that were lifting us higher towards happiness to be popped!

Lily was tactful enough to stay silent, minus some enquiries about the furniture and decorations (_Was the redwood put in place in the late 15__th__ century, or early 16__th__ century? Or maybe the varnish disguises its age?_). Which was good, considering the fact that this newfound ease was still comparatively new, and the equilibrium might suddenly tilt and hence break the kind of steady funk we had formed.

I jumped from the opinions of '_we're totally impartial friends now_' and '_shaky truce between us two_'. In the end I decided to settle for friends. Friends for now.

Yeah, that was the best term to describe the pair of us.

I came to the conclusion that the house was like a tree, and that the room we reached was a small leaf at the end of countless limbs branching off from the atrium-trunk. Lily had already found her favourite room (the one that looked the weirdest to me) that coincidentally, and luckily, happened to be right next to my room. Unlike Lily I was perfectly happy to see what room Malfoy thought would suit me best, and I was fine with this.

Unless he decided to give me a room that was set on fire and had a mirror that shouted '_intolerant bastard_', though that might have been the impression he had gleaned of my personality, as shown through my spirited, irrational hatred of him.

I walked into the room, already anticipating for myself another surprise.

And for once, my characteristic hindsight had not failed me.

The room was circular with stepped ceilings. The half of the circular wall that faced the lake and grass was comprised of some huge, super-sized bay window. The glass was simply spectacular, throwing rainbow rays of light off its impossibly shiny surface.

'The glass has a grime-repelling charm,' he said, stating the obvious to fill in the silence.

'Yeah, I sort of noticed that when my eyes were dazzled and burnt by all that sparkling light.'

I guess we were back to that really awkward phase where neither of us was brave enough to say something, or, to view it in a positive way, we were done with trying to pretend that we wanted to talk to each other 24/7.

'Cool, I'll leave you to unpack and if you need any help ring the bell. I'll see you in half an hour back outside.'

I unpacked, shaking all my stuff out of that stupid black clutch, and had enjoyed a few joyfully childish seconds of bed-bouncing on the huge, marshmallow like bed before panicking.

How the hell was I meant to find my way out of this maze? I was pretty sure there were anti-apparation wards, no random Firebolts lying around and there weren't any feathers for me to fashion some makeshift wings out of. And even if I had a racing broom it wouldn't help with my non-existent sense of direction in this place!

I was about to press the delicate silver plunger down and call for help, and maybe a cool icy goblet of pumpkin juice but then decided I had much rather relax for a bit and fend off the dehydration. I wanted to sleep, and I didn't want to have to justify Scorpius Malfoy for owning subservient house-elves under my mum's strict moral rules in _that_ matter.

I took off my shoes, sunk into the marshmallow-like mattress, bathed in the smooth and fine linen with an impossibly high thread-count, closed my eyes, gave up sleeping and opened them, admired the white gauzy hangings around the sturdy wooden bedposts, imagined what the tantalizingly crisp mint-green wall colour what taste like in the ice-cream and then stood up, completely unrefreshed by my half an hour stint in bed.

I stared out of the window at the fresh green stalks waving in the wind, flapping around like a blanket of green wriggly things synchronized in motion (evidently Care of Magical Creatures wasn't my strong suit). A few spindly trees were scattered about, their grandeur diminished by perspective. The blue lake stretched out beyond the horizon, creating the feeling of being on an oceanfront. The whole place kind of exuded this awesome natural, artifice-free feel, unimpeded by anything.

However stunning the panoramic view of the scenery from my window was I really couldn't sit still for a day and wax lyrical on its beauty. Nor would I really be bothered to paint a watercolour of it, or compose a song dedicated to it. So I left the room and decided to explore.

After all, why would I pass up an opportunity to wander around this mammoth place? I could pretend I was simply trying to find my way out and got lost accidentally.

This was a brilliant undertaking. It appealed to the mischievous, sneaking and rambunctious side of me, the schoolgirl who liked to roam the Hogwarts corridors late at night just for the pure thrill and adrenaline, and to confuse and annoy Filch.

I turned right, turned left, went straight and generally had absolutely _no idea_ what I was doing. There was such an extravagance in the way half the walls were plastered in gold leaf, and the chandeliers were all so shiny that they looked as though they were made of diamonds. And there was such a wasteful arrogance in having _hundreds_ of rooms that served absolutely _no _purpose at all apart from to stun viewers with wealth and grandeur!

The little moralizer in me couldn't help but be outraged by the sheer amount of unfairly gained hereditary wealth stowed away in this mansion. It was all exquisite, delicate, earth-shatteringly gorgeous and beautiful without being plain out weird and abstract!

But despite the recriminations of my conscience I was perfectly aware that I _wished_ to live in this magnificent mansion where everything was perfect, beautiful, varied and wonderful and like a museum itself. I had endless power at my fingertips.

Maybe _I _could have been living there, basking in all the Malfoy glory and spending my days showered with perfect pleasure and fun?

I considered this for a while, finding it surprisingly hard to admit to myself that there was a part of me that wished that I had accepted his seemingly ludicrous offer for the purely materialistic benefits. And to relive that soft, warm feeling of his arms on my shoulders and that tingle of pleasure it brought to me.

By now the wide, open corridors had been replaced by narrow, claustrophobic corridors with no windows and a richer, darker, more ominous colour scheme of black and burgundy red. The place was lit with candles and torches, giving the feeling of either dark romance or death.

I felt as though I should turn back before something creepy inevitably happened. If it were a film tense music would start playing, lightning would strike right next to me and Dracula would come and bite me.

A decapitated house-elf head (well, if it weren't severed I wouldn't describe it as a house-elf head) lying pickled in a glass cylinder confirmed this feeling of dread, and I was very glad that I had not decided to descend the steep stone stairs into a chamber that was just out of my sight.

I ran, taking absolutely no care to lighten my footsteps and completely ditching my feline approach in creeping around the place. My heart beat with a rapid ferocity, hoping that my head wouldn't end up pickled in a glass cylinder.

I took a wrong turn.

Oh God. Maybe the next corridor I stumbled upon might have severed feet hanging from the ceiling.

I tried to remedy my mistake by retracing my steps, but the corridor I was in before suddenly disappeared! Oh, the woes of living in a magical house where rooms disappeared and staircases shifted.

Yes, I had to admit once again that I was foolish and reckless enough to get myself lost in a place even more complex than Hogwarts (that just illustrated the magnanimity and splendor of the place).

So eventually I found a path that wasn't blocked by brick walls, severed heads, or had a tendency to spontaneously disappear. And then I heard two voices, one familiar, one not, and the sound of incessant pacing.

The thick oak doors muffled the sound so that I couldn't make out any words from the sound. I yearned to hear what they were talking about and take a sneak peek into the mysterious workings of a Malfoy family.

But I couldn't hear them! From the evidence I had gathered I was at least able to determine that members of the Malfoy family were able to speak to one another without any loud explosions occurring, which was more than could be said for some members of my family.

But this conclusion wasn't enough to satisfy me when I had a unique opportunity to snoop on Malfoy in his unguarded moments!

Think! Wasn't I a witch?

I considered breaking down the door with the help of an axe that I could Conjure up, dissolving the door with some acid, dousing the whole door in flammable liquid and then setting it on fire, Summoning a pair of Extendable Ears, and placing an amplification charm right outside the door.

The best solution: the simplest (and easiest) and the one that wouldn't destroy anything – the amplification charm. And the fact that the people inside the room wouldn't notice the charm was another attractive feature.

I muttered an incantation under my breath, valiantly hope that I swished my wand the right way (was it clockwise or anticlockwise?) and waited.

Then, as if by magic (a figure of speech that in this case had an ironic literal meaning) their voices soared above the noise of creaking floorboards like they were live on a Muggle radio.

'_I didn't mean to scare her with my new behaviour. I would swear that she was ready to punch me the first time she saw me.'_

'_Well, I suppose that may have been accounted for by the fact that you turned up in a soaked and sheer shirt.'_

'_Courtesy of you, Lola.'_

'_Well, you did ask for a waterfight. And you don't mess with the waterfighting champion slash awesome pro!'_

'_Yeah, yeah, sure. A rematch is in order.'_

'_Hey, we could have that waterfight with Rose and Lily! I'm sure they'd enjoy being totally blown away by my awesomeness, and the fact that you would be falling over every three seconds would be an added bonus!'_

'_I _did not_ fall over every three seconds!'_

'_On the contrary brother, yes you did.'_

'_Come on, I only fell over that often at the beginning because you cheated and started early.'_

'_Whatever. Loser, loser, loser!'_

'_You suck. And don't divert me off topic again, you insufferable woman!'_

'_You called me insufferable? You shall pay!'_

'_I just don't know what to do about her!'_

'_Kiss her.'_

'_Thanks for the brilliant and intelligent advice, but I really don't know what to do about it!'_

'_You do like her, don't you? And here I was thinking that there was absolutely _nothing_ going on between you two when you were stuck in a glass cubicle together.'_

He moaned, and a break from their lively repartee occurred.

Why couldn't he be like that in my company? Why couldn't he be that lively, sarcastic and saucy in front of me!

He still cared about me, that was sure, but I was sure the feelings had cooled. On his side at least. But I was still so uncertain, completely unsure about how our respective opinions of each other corresponded.

The confusion tormented me.

I simply couldn't comprehend why he insisted upon adopting a personality that was as lively and interesting as a wooden plank whenever he was in front of me! Was I simply that oppressive? Was I really that debilitating and horrid to those around me?

Why couldn't he just _relax_ and be true and honest in front of _me_? Even the happy, friendly, open way of talking he had suddenly adopted was something quite restrained. It was something a close _acquaintance _would adopt when talking to me, not someone closer!

Normally I wouldn't have cared about this issue, but for some bizarre reason I felt as though I wanted to know him better than the rather false and superficial version that I hated before. I actually wanted to hear some lame jokes out of him, to hear him teasing me, to see the life behind that façade! He was different to all those other exes (if I could presume to call him one) whose charming exteriors hid arrogant, sexist, _idiotic_ tendencies!

He was something deeper than I knew him, and I was absolutely _determined_ upon dissecting his very thoughts and motivations, to plumb the deepest chambers of the heart and soul. I still didn't understand what made him tick, what made him work the way he did!

I didn't understand him, and that annoyed me to hell. I had the greatest dislike of failing to fully understand something! And here he was, an almost complete mystery and enigma!

I thought I had known him, I thought I had pegged him down to be a rich, hedonistic, mean little aristocratic snob and his sister a suitably docile female counterpart of him. Then he became that brooding Byronic hero who was wronged on all sides and living in grief and despair, a victim of his own emotions. And today he was the cheerful, ever-happy talker who reminded me so much of Hugo.

What was he?

And till I knew the answer to that I would be in perpetual discontentment, my mind shouting to me that I had somehow missed something both important and wonderful in my life.

'_What do you think about her?' _he asked, sounding eager in his anticipation of his sister's opinion of me.

She laughed for a full three seconds before replying _'How would I know? I haven't even seen her? But I think that she's quite a beautiful and intelligent woman if you keep raving on about her.'_

'_And the fact that she's a Weasley?'_

'_You really care about that? I didn't even think that'd be an issue, otherwise I'd immediately throw you out and call you a classist pure-blood pig.'_

'_Well, anything else?'_

'_What else am I meant to say?_' she replied. _'But I think I have one thing that I can say that isn't pure fancy and imagination on my part. She is one gutsy girl for telling you that you act like an arrogant, proud bastard in front of everyone.'_

So he had told her. Great. Now she knew that particularly humiliating night in my life it tarred her image of me, and I was doomed to be an angry crazy redhead with absolutely no tact who insulted her brother. No matter that she seemed to side with me, but such a seemingly bright (of course her calling me beautiful and intelligent had absolutely nothing to do with my positive impression of her) girl could not fail to see how much of a melodramatic prima dona I was.

'_Please, don't remind me_,' he said, sounding as embarrassed as I felt about that incident. It had humiliated not only me, but him as well. _'Please don't remind me of how stupid I am in front of other people. It's like as though all the sense and charisma leak out of me when confronted by certain situations!' _he said exasperatedly, the pain in his voice making him sound as melodramatic as me.

There was another pause, and Lola spoke again in her lightly teasing voice after a sufficiently respectful pause, and all the while gently poking fun at him without actually hurting him (something which I had only just begun to master).

'_You have charisma? That makes you sound like some Lothario, which you definitely are not.'_

While I couldn't be so presumptuous as to say '_it was decided that I liked her from that very moment_' I would say that she seemed like quite a light, vivacious and happy person with at least a rudimentary knowledge of the mysterious realms of Muggledom.

'_Well, if you do want the opportunity to show off your fancy waterfighting skills, you will have to get out this very instant or risk the eternal wrath of our guests.'_

'_And we wouldn't want that, would we?'_ she said, coyly.

'_No, of course not,' _he replied quickly, abruptly ending the topic.

Ending the topic and then causing what sounded like an enormous fight involving pillows and pinches.

I wondered why this friendly sibling fight had erupted. I imagined the thin, overly waggling and suggestive eyebrows of Lola, her cocked head, the hands on hips stance perfected with the help of the typical tall and skinny Malfoy physique. I pictured the annoyed look on his face (which, unsurprisingly, I had seen quite often) with pursed lips and then a sudden widening of the lips to form a smile as he understood her sister's attempt to show him how much he _didn't_ want to displease me and thus proving that he cared about my opinion of him.

And then, in the grand tradition of sibling fights, a mutual understanding of how one sibling had teased/tricked/embarrassed/defeated another sibling resulted in a fight to reassert the normal order of things in the sibling relationship.

And it wasn't like I could tell who had won the fight before they both came tumbling out of the room, short of breath, laughing, red-faced and disheveled.

I only fully grasped the ridiculousness of my position when they were both staring at me, crouched against the wall and every bit as disheveled and sweaty as they were, not to mention that Lola had slammed the door open on my nose and caused it to bleed profusely.

'Oh, I'm so sorry!' she shouted, quickly stopping the flow of blood and wiping the rest off my face with a few expert waves of the wand.

She was every bit as lively, pretty and bubbly as I pictured her to be from all that conversation. The distinctive Malfoy hair was there, but wildly messed up and nearly falling out of the long ponytail. She wore that super-confident, domineering look with a playfulness and gentle smile that defused the kind of evil connotations that could otherwise be associated with such Malfoy-like features.

On the whole, she had made a much better first impression than her brother. And to be sure, I made a pretty bad first impression by appearing with a smashed up nose, caught red-handed in the act of eavesdropping on their conversation.

If she judged on her first impressions (as heavily as I did at least) she would probably consider me a criminal, petty and ratty type who was so pathetic that she felt the need to snoop on others.

So, it was with apprehension that I thought of how to introduce myself to her (_Hi (insert many vocal exclamation marks), I'm Rose Weasley, formerly your brother's co-worker before I sort of flipped out on him because I thought he was a complete and utter jerk, and he proposed to me because he was, in all likelihood, completely drunk/drugged!)_.

What I ended up saying was this:

'Hi!'

And yes, I really did vocalize the oft written, but never spoken language convention of the multiple exclamation marks, often used to hide a lack of other conversation. And yes, my voice did climb a few semitones higher than usual (or even pleasant for the human ear).

She looked back, her eyebrows raised in amusement and perhaps disdain (god, how those eyebrows reminded me of her brother) at my abuse of the humble exclamation mark.

_God_, she must be thinking, _who is that insane loser who popped out of nowhere and has her clothes all crumpled by her failed attempt to eavesdrop on our _private _conversation!_

'I'm Rose,' I said, hoping to extract a word from her lips, which were currently drawn together tightly, and struggling to restrain a snort.

I stared awkwardly at Malfoy, hoping he would step into this situation and relieve me from the current embarrassment. The silence built up, the level of comic tension in the air rose rapidly, and I was doing my best to look sincerely interested in the nearby oak table, which if in my previous mood of awe and wonder would have appeared magnanimous, sturdy and majestic with its thick legs and carefully flared out bottoms, but now just appeared a bit hopeless in saving me from this weird situation.

Then she gave up trying to restrain the snort, and laughed, the silent shaking of her body interrupted by valiant attempts to try and catch her breath and hence stop mocking my idiocy.

The laughter stopped, and she looked up at me, the colour of her eyes and cheeks heightened by the exercise (who said that laughing wasn't exercise?).

'Yes I know, I'm evil and like to laugh at other people's expense,' she said (sarcastically of course).

I was still staring keenly at her, now mesmerized by the expressive twitches of her eyebrows and wondering how people could pull off the impression of absolute frank friendliness and liveliness without acting like a walking, talking cliché.

'Great. Glad to know that you're pure evil,' I said, recovering my mojo and snapping back to my usual self.

She beamed (how did I know that she would have perfect teeth?) and walked over to me, looping her arms through mine and then proceeded to give me a fast-paced commentary on every piece of furniture nearby, and when she ran out of things to say about the varnish on the table she dragged me along, now talking about all seven years of Hogwarts life and her journalistic aspirations and intention to intern at the Daily Prophet now that she had left Hogwarts.

'I think it will be fun, don't you, making money from stringing lots of words together? It shouldn't be _that_ hard to find lots of words, but then there's the problem of making them have some meaning to more than just myself.'

She threw one of her hands out in a spirited gesture, and I knew that I was going to be smothered with exuberance and enthusiasm every time I walked anywhere near her. But despite the imminent possibility of asphyxiation I did like her, and I soon dismissed the idea that I had made a bad impression on her. Then the constant flow of chatter from her was reduced to a dribble, and we had a lively conversation about nothing in particular, but which served to cement her in my mind as a very lively person.

I had almost forgot about Wickham and her, and was astonished to think that she could ever have been sad in anyway.

We were soon outside, Lola radiant with loveliness that lively conversation often bestows on the giver, and Lily had already placed herself under a tree with a sketchpad. I doubted her success. It would take one heck of an artist to capture the subtle dips in the horizon, and quite an eye for texture to do justice to the plump clouds.

Lola and I joined Lily under the thick canopy of the tree, and I saw Malfoy look at us with a content, happy look sealed firmly upon his face.

_A/N: Please pardon the clunky feel of this chapter. It has to do with me writing this whole thing in small chunks, and not being able to focus on this for longer than 20 minutes non-stop. Argh, not nice to write, and I sound sort of like a translator in my sentence structure, and I'm not surprised because I've been doing so much translation and other factual things that seem technical on the surface but when you dig a bit deeper is just pages of nonsense. _

_So busy… But I think I have sort of made up for the long hiatus on this with the length of the chapter, but not really the quality!_


	18. Red and green

_A/N: Ahhh, alas, the joys of life! This has been pushed further and further back in my mind._

_So, this is the product of intermittent bursts of writing over six months._

'Don't squirt me! Help me!' I shouted, feeling thoroughly defeated, and worn down with laughter and the physical exhaustion that often accompanies intense magic water-fights – one might consider it a more playful variant of the magical duel, perfect for summer.

Lily had long since surrendered and plonked herself on a comfortable looking log nearby, slurping her drink and shoveling spoons of melon sorbet into her mouth from a replenishing goblet that she nicked from off the table ('_hey, he did say 'make yourself welcome' and I don't feel welcome in any place until I steal something that gives me free food!'_), a great huge dining table that had relocated itself to an airy balcony, a much more pleasurable surrounding than the dark recesses of the glorified dungeon (also known as the grand dining hall, but I prefer the term prison) of which it had once resided.

Lola pretended to look the other way as I made a plea, and then squirted a light stream of cool liquid in my general direction. The high sugar content was obvious from the start, the sugar drying quickly and sticking my eyelids together in an uncomfortable way. Much more enjoyable was the way the sweet liquid slid down my parched throat and invigorated me.

Her footsteps approached, and I was in the uncomfortable sit-up position (knees bent right towards the sky, hands limp and useless on the side and unable to get up due to abnormally weak abdominals, one of the many signs of uselessness and lack of exercise) as she knelt down next to me and pried my eyelids upon.

She then put her hand to her throat, and said, 'She's not dead is she? No!' in a high-pitched voice that would have sounded genuine if I didn't know that I had kicked her during that falsetto-dying-daughter-style monologue.

The sunlight ebbed its way down, with a pleasurable tingling and warming of the skin. Even though I was acutely aware of my eyelids being apart I could only see swirls and blurs of blue and yellow, with black punctuating my vision occasionally. The endless expanse of grass I could feel underneath my fingers, tickling me and irritating my neck to no end.

Lily was still above me, smiling and giggling. Her voice always made my ears ring with a certain kind of magical tingling – it was as though her voice was in itself a kind of mild Distracting Charm.

However, all the distraction in the world was not enough for me to forget the fact that I was starting to sweat profusely and I had the incredible desire to itch myself. I was just so worn out; my arms limp with the heat of the summer and perfect happiness and liberality. Why would I want to get up from the ground where I was so comfortably carefree, nay, why should I bother to get up when my mind was so delightfully intoxicated with careless fun?

'Come on, get up now Rose, you good-for nothing!' the slowly-focusing blob shouted into my ear.

I groaned in the way of a reply.

The blob stayed still, which I was thankful for as I was fearful of the Blob's epic magical powers – the blob was particularly and surprisingly accomplished for someone right out of Blobwarts.

All was still. There was no wind, no sound, no movement at all.

Colours swam around me. Perhaps the Blob was moving, but no sound emanated from that paragon of water-fighting. The prospect of even more stinging liquid in my eyes, the physical agony of being squirted by _Lola_ again were enough to force me to my feet.

I ran blindly towards that log that the blurry haze Lily was perched upon, all the while shouting out 'SURRENDER, I SURRENDER!' in the loudest voice I could possibly muster with my depleted energy levels. Stabs of fear, genuine in their naivety and innocence were spurring me on in my flight, propelling me closer and closer to Lily – from whom I could steal that attractively-coloured melon sorbet.

In my state of visual disorientation – if one can give the overwhelming throbbing of acid on the surface of the eyeball such a tame and technical label – everything was attractively coloured actually. The light green mat that I was currently treading on would seem a good meal if I judged it purely based on the dainty light green colour it was irradiating, but my sense of direction told me that anything that was green and beneath my feet was likely to be grass, and hence inedible.

Such was my confused, fanciful way of thinking. But in the wild, roaring heat of this English summer (one of my mum's pet complaints was the ever-increasing temperature of each successive summer) I was happy. The warmth seemed to cast an instant Cheering Charm on me.

What was I doing playing in the Malfoy's backyard? Why was I clowning around, spraying and being sprayed by the daughter of Draco _bloody _Malfoy? The evil one, the one who tried to kill Albus Dumbledore and the one with a Dark Mark pressed into his flesh? The one that nearly poured a punch bowl over my own mum's head? Didn't the name 'Malfoy' ring any alarm bells in my head – any of those loud, beeping alarms saying 'avoid, avoid, avoid'?

Prejudice, prejudice, prejudice! In the words of an Albus infinitely more wise than my cousin 'It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities'. Or in this case 'It is our actions, Rose, that show what we truly are, far more than our death-eater father'.

It's very hard to describe the sensual rush of confusion that occurs when your eyesight is blinded by orange juice, the sense that your mind is descending into a white haze of mushy, animalistic thoughtlessness. Everything shifts around you.

Therefore, when I reached Lily's log I immediately fell onto her shoulder in my exercise-induced, 'healthfulness' glow.

Did I know that I had inadvertently stumbled upon the log that Malfoy had also chosen to sit on?

Do you think I would have chosen to collapse onto _his _shoulder if I knew that he was there?

Did you? I was under absolutely _no circumstances_ going to fall into the lap of this slightly deranged (albeit quite nice) person who thought that several months cooped up in a small room was basis for some kind of a lasting, fulfilling relationship. Well, perhaps it _may _be for an obsessive person with compulsive tendencies, and the constant habit of unrealistic projection, and other major maladies to boot.

Un-fortune blessed me again as this mysterious disembodied arm crept around my shoulder (helpfully bare in the cauldron-like weather) and he (or rather it, for in my perception this person still seemed like a very frightful mutation out of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_) started _humming_.

Yes, it was delightful to be lightly cradled and lulled to sleep (in the stifling heat of high noon, mind you) with dried orange juice remains on my face, and a slight creeping uneasiness (if I had to describe it I would say that it was an unusual lurching or tingling) throughout me – maybe even a fast-travelling warmth like that from quaffing a strong potion.

At this point I was quite sure that this mysterious person who was next to me was not Lily. And I had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't Lola, which led to one fairly logical conclusion: the Malfoy that was named Scorpius.

Joy, joy, joy! I could not fully express my joy at such an eventuality!

He finished his humming – a tune I did not recognize – and then detached his arm from my shoulder, which led him to look up into my face.

'Unicorn Turds!'

His face was fixed in a rather amusing expression of shock, with eyebrows lifted upwards to an astonishing degree – which I could perceive even through the stinging gauze of my recent blindness.

I could not help but find the humour in the situation. This face, which I had been so accustomed to see set in a deep frown, or a look of annoyance, or an arrogant smirk, or a tortured look of absolute mystery, was now something funny – which I thought was a first.

'Well, that has to be one amusing curse that I haven't used since I was about five years old.'

'I thought you were Lola!'

'I thought you were Lily until about five seconds ago! Can't you see that my hair is flaming red, and that my face in no way resembles your sister's?'

He tilted sideways so that his head was directly behind mine (I could feel him breathing on my neck, which was a _slightly_ awkward if not entirely new situation).

'You are right – even I can tell that your hair is red.'

'What, you couldn't tell that my hair was red before? You are more unperceptive than I previously thought you to be.'

'It's not my fault!'

At this point my eyes were still glazed over with a layer of congealed orange juice, so I did not have the capability of fully using my sense of sight, and therefore I was still relying upon my sense of hearing to try and detect Malfoy's new disability that led him to be unable to see (or maybe unable to recall) my hair colour.

What on earth was wrong with him? His voice sounded perfectly fine, trembling with its usual limited range and tight, clear tones of precision. I didn't suppose he would be gullible enough to land into Lola's cunning traps.

'My sister is an evil witch – she shot orange juice straight into my eyes! Do you think I can see anything after the trauma that I suffered?'

Coincidence much? There seemed to be some sort of imperceptible aura surrounding him so that whenever I was near him we seemed to attract some pretty unusual bad luck.

'I totally agree with that sentiment, for I am currently in the same state,' I shouted quite a lot louder than usual, perhaps unconsciously compensating for the fact that both of us were relying more than ever on our sense of hearing.

There was a long pause. No sound. No movement, as far as I could tell from my sense of touch. I decided to pipe up with a contribution of my own, lest we stay forever stranded, blinded and together on that log – which would have been a horrible prospect whoever my unfortunate partner was.

'Perhaps we should both get our wands out and shot spurts of water into each other's eyes to get the orange juice out.'

'That might be a good idea – but I don't fancy the idea of a high-pressure jet directly into my already sore eye – maybe a trickle would be a better idea,' he said, sounding fairly uncertain.

'I know my idea sounds completely ludicrous, but let's go with it, because for all I know Lily is enjoying an iced desert, and your sister is roaming around formulating her plans for world domination, and that means that if we don't do anything we'll end up sitting here on this log, blind forever.'

'Let's go for it then, Rose. Wands out.'

I rummaged around my pockets for my wand, eventually finding it after having contorted my body fairly severely. Thus, with my wand out in front of my face in a defensive stance, I waiting for Malfoy to give me the signal to shoot water.

The grass under my feet was starting to feel incredibly ticklish and uncomfortable, and I felt the overpowering need to itch my foot – as ridiculous as that sounded.

Malfoy was taking a long time to find his wand – a surprisingly long time. Perhaps something had happened to him. It was a long log after all, and perhaps something had happened to him at the other end of the log, which for all I knew could have been the other end of the universe.

'Malfoy, do you need some help? What's happened?' I asked.

'I can't find my wand.'

He couldn't find his wand? To any self-respecting wizard or witch their wand was like another arm! Was I meant to believe that Malfoy, who for all I knew was as self-respecting as the rest of us magical folk (understatement indeed), had managed to inadvertently misplace his wand?

'What? You can't find your wand? I bet you I can find it.'

And with that, I reached around blindly in the air, hoping for my hand to reach him before the rest of my body mass, for I sincerely wished that I would not crash into him headlong.

My shorts were grating along the woody, splintered log that we were seating along. It _was_ surprisingly long, and after many seconds of tense anticipation I was yet to reach him.

'Where on earth are you, Malfoy?'

'I have no idea, do you think I have any idea?'

'It's like I'll never find you!' he said, which seemed rather genuine and heartfelt.

And those words were the incantation for Malfoy and I to bash our foreheads together.

The world was spinning in a glorious daze of yellowed sunlight, and dappled blue, and green vegetation. The summer was lush around me, even with the lack of fine detail. In short, the world was warm, and the warmth now felt sweet to me after a pause in my previously onerous physical activities.

The impact was hard and sudden, and both of us shouted out in pain as we were thrown sideways off the log from the force.

The ground was soft. The birds were chirping. My eyes were still blurred and stinging. The heat clung to me with a practiced and unstinting constancy.

'That was bloody painful,' he said in a quiet voice.

'I'll say. Why do we always end up in awkward situations?' I wandered aloud to myself, not expecting a reply to my rhetorical question.

'Rose – I don't really try _that_ hard to force ourselves into awkward situations, but I have to say I'm sorry, for anything – I think you know what I'm talking about, I don't have to say it do I?'

Was that an apology? Or, more to the point, was that an apology I should have accepted? He seemed quite in earnest, with an unusually childish whine attached to the end of his phrases that made him seem like a naughty child begging for forgiveness. I could just make out his clouded form a few paces away from me, but could not make out anything else beyond his facial expression.

There was good reason to still be angry with him.

While one's vanity may have been flattered by his "attentions", I never asked for _his_ attentions. In my mind the name "Malfoy" was too inexplicably intertwined with the sliminess of a snake. I hadn't yet gotten over that feeling of disgust with the Malfoy family in general, but I suppose that Scorpius and his sister were alright. Quite nice people in fact.

Yet again, while I had felt angry that he could have been so presumptuous as to "propose a matrimonial alliance", there was no lasting damage from it – on my side at least, and he seemed to have gotten over my refusal with most of his dignity intact and the more arrogant side of him completely gone.

'Rose?'

I had not quite decided how I wanted to react to his purported apology. Therefore, I stayed silent, quivering and equivocating over what I should while trying to delicately balance the feelings of both parties – business as usual then.

And the sister of course was obviously quite a feisty personality, and judging from my eavesdropped conversation, she was privy to our previous dealings.

I suspected that there was some wheedling and bribery on her part to extract the information from him. I was embarrassed (and melodramatically angry) enough to flounce off, sulk and not breathe a word to anybody else of his proposal. I could not help but think that the embarrassment on his side (a rejected proposal, etc. etc. etc.) would be even greater. I also suspected that his willpower was stronger than mine, and his capability for emotional concealment many times greater than my own.

My conclusion was that his sister was a very devious character indeed.

'Rose?' he said, with the aforementioned note of begging even more prominent.

'What?' I said, a bit more abruptly than I wished it to come out.

I think he sensed that I was annoyed, and stayed silent, letting the winds, my imagination and any residual _Legilmens_ power in the air convey that I was not annoyed, just hot, tired and sticky.

'You didn't happen to find my wand, did you? Because I still have no idea where it is,' he said, sounding as miserable as I was that we were still stuck in the direct path of the increasingly hot sun, incapacitated, with only a wand between us, and not within shouting distance of anyone who could help us.

'You know what? I'm sorry for being particularly annoying today, but I am increasingly incandescent due to the fact that we are going to melt into a small and miserable puddle, and be covered in ants feeding off a sticky layer of orange juice on our corpses,' I said, almost quicker than the thoughts were forming in my mind.

He laughed at my loquacious absurdity, sounding much happier than before, and I too felt much happier and more prone to laugh at the absurdity of our situation. It was a testament to the contagious power of laughter that we started to let out increasingly loud and violent peals of laughter, which ended up with both of us choking.

'Rose?' he said for the millionth time today.

'Yes, Scorpius?' I said in an equally childish voice.

'My head hurts.'

'Get used to it.' I said, quickly shutting the inner child in him up.

'My eyes hurt.'

'Get used to it.'

'Are you going to try and do anything to help me?'

'As if I am in any condition to help, Malfoy,' I replied, gradually slipping into a rather uncomfortable physical state every second longer we stayed in the sun.

'Fine, leave me here.'

I swear I could _hear_ him flounce off with as much dignity as he could.

A slow and solitary death was not one I wanted to endure.

Though death was unlikely with my wand still in my pocket.

Deciding against summoning Malfoy back using _Accio_ (thankfully, my wand was still in my back pocket) I started to crawl slowly towards him, hesitantly putting my hands down on the soft grass, forever fearful of a particularly thorny weed, or a resolutely solid tree trunk. I crawled like a small child, scared of simply toppling over, and I felt as though I had covered a marathon, and yet he was still nowhere near me, as far as I could tell.

'Malfoy! Scorpius! Where the bloody hell are you?'

Silence was my answer.

I was now worried that he had met a gruesome death in the sixty seconds since I last saw him. Maybe he had hit his head on a jagged rock, or broken a bone, or sprained an ankle?

There was no chance I could find him with my stinging eyes. I resolved to do what I should have done ages ago, and slid my wand out of my pocket, stretched my arm out, and pointed the pointy end at my face, something I had not done in all my twenty-one years of living.

My wand was in front of me, and I was silently praying to myself that I could still adequately perform an _Agaumenti_ charm without any messy complications.

I was ready. I placed my remaining hand behind me to brace myself against the upcoming tidal wave.

'RISE AND SHINE, MY PRETTY DARLINGS!'

I heard the furious crackle of leaves and twigs as _Lola_ stomped her way across to me, deftly moved my wand away from my face, and took it upon herself to direct the high-pressure stream at my face.

'You – you…' I spluttered, desperately trying to form words to articulate my own pain and annoyance at her cheery temperament.

'You wonderful person for helping me get the orange juice out of my eyes?' she said, sounding incredibly cheerful and enormously cheeky.

'Well, yes… No! You were the one who sprayed orange juice in my eyes in the first place! And you just used the excuse that I had orange juice in my eyes to completely soak me in water!'

I blinked, trying to get the water out of my eyes and simultaneously rubbing them on my now-soaked shirt, desperately trying to stop the stinging. I could see the face of my tormenter in clear focus now, which was not a lot of consolation for me as I sat on the ground, wet, humiliated and in pain.

'You look like the vision of perfection right now, Lola.'

She nodded, smiling as her curls bounced up and down, seemingly unaffected by the heat or our previous water fight.

'You are simply way too cheerful. And perfect.'

She nodded once again, smiling even more.

A horrible thoughout dawned on me.

'You didn't just stumble upon us, did you? You were there, watching us, weren't you?' I said, pushing myself off the floor to stand up, face her, and give her my best theatrical death stare.

She nodded, now laughing.

'I couldn't help watching you guys! You were so funny, just moving around like blind children hopelessly lost and not thinking to use magic! I was just behind one of the trees, holding on for dear life while I laughed!' she said, sounding remarkably like her older brother when trying to charm others.

'You know Lola,' I said, while wiping a soggy strand of hair out of my eyes, 'I do believe you are one of the most devious people I know.'

She chuckled. 'I've heard a lot of people say that about me. I seem pretty nice, but I have a way of manipulating things to my own advantage.'

'Oh, I didn't mean it that way! You happen to be nice and mischevious, if that makes any sense. Were you a Slytherin at Hogwarts? If you weren't, they would have lost out on a first-rate benign-Machiavellian.'

'Yes, I was, just like Scorp. Runs in the family, I guess.'

Well. I didn't think any worse of Lola for her being a Slytherin – I guess it didn't surprise me, I always assumed that, but I assumed that because she was a Malfoy. Then again, I assumed that both her and her brother were awful, or at least unsavoury people because of that, which was an assumption turned out to be completely wrong.

'Speaking of Scorp, where is he?' I asked, only realizing that he was missing when I started to look around.

'I don't know.'

She shrugged her shoulders, and proceeded to spin around, bobbing up and down to try and find him, or at least look as though she was trying.

'You know where he is, don't you Lola?'

'Really, I have no idea!' she protested, giving me a look of exaggerated emotion and panic.

I stepped closer to her and retried my death stare. Her eyebrows and lips were unshakable in their expression of complete honesty and naivety, but as I continued to stride towards her, doing my best to tilt my head in a threatening manner, she started to quiver, her face jerking up and down in unusual spasms, and before I had completely closed the gap between us (thankfully, otherwise I would have run into her) she had burst out into laughter.

'Come on, I'll show you where he's gone – he tried to apparate back to the house, the fool!'

I laughed, imagining what it would look like if he had splinched himself. Then I silenced myself, knowing first-hand how much it hurt to splinch from personal experience. Needless to say, my first Apparation test didn't go well, and nor did my second as I had developed a fanatical fear of splinching, which I only overcome when I became known as the Hogwarts Chicken for a short but vivid month in sixth year.

I had to jog to keep up with her pace, and nearly went down on all fours as we reached a particularly steep hill. I was halfway up it, panting and trying to find a foothold to rest on, when I saw Lily appear at the top of the hill, dragging a still-blind Malfoy who was looking around confusedly.

Lola was next to me, and I could see her smile as if to say "Don't tell Lily, let her figure out herself".

There was no success in finding a foothold for my poor and battered body to rest, and therefore I pushed myself up to the top of the hill, rejoining Lily, Lola and Malfoy.

Lily let go of Malfoy and ran as fast as possible from him.

Malfoy was mumbling to himself, rubbing his eyes and sounding generally deaf to anything we were saying. He kept stretching out his hand, as though he was Imperiused and utterly confused, groping out in vain to try and reach one of us. Every time he got close we simply jumped out of the way, and I felt very sorry for him as the three of us continued to leap about, eluding his capture, and no doubt aggravating him as he was starting to hear our laughter and was probably sure of our presence.

In the end he finally managed to grab onto Lily, and didn't let her go, no matter how hard she tried to shake him off.

'So, Lily, how was your ice-cream?' I asked.

We all laughed at the absurdity and complete irrelevance of my question, and we continued to run about, taking turns to roll down the hill and hide from Malfoy, who was still blinded by orange juice.

I laughed, reveling in the joyful carelessness that I was currently living in.

Lily and Lola laughed.

Malfoy laughed.

We all laughed, and the sound of laughter continued into the night.

_A/N: A long and arduous chapter spanning over half a year. What an epic effort._


End file.
